I Have Shot Mine Arrow

I Scorn You, Scurvy Companion.

Love Yourself; And In That Love Not Unconsidered Leave Your Honor.

Conscience Doth Make Cowards Of Us All.

No Stony Bulwark Can Resist The Love, And Love Dares What Anyone Can Love.

Cowards Die Many Times Before Their Deaths; The Valiant Never Taste Of Death But Once. Of All The Wonders That I Yet Have Heard, It Seems To Me Most Strange That Men Should Fear; Seeing That Death, A Necessary End, Will Come When It Will Come.