Not All The Water In

Think You A Little Din Can Daunt Mine Ears? Have I Not In My Time Heard Lions Roar? Have I Not Heard The Sea, Puffed Up With Winds, Rage Like An Angry Boar Chafed With Sweat? Have I Not Heard Great Ordinance In The Field, And Heaven's Artillery Thunder In The Skies? Have I Not In A Pitched Battle Heard Loud 'larums, Neighing Steeds, And Trumpets' Clang? And Do You Tell Me Of A Woman's Tongue, That Gives Not Half So Great A Blow To Hear As Will A Chestnut In A Farmer's Fire? Tush! Tush! Fear Boys With Bugs. Grumio: For He Fears None.

Suspicion Shall Be All Stuck Full Of Eyes.

Grief Best Is Pleased With Grief's Society.

The Soul Of This Man Is His Clothes.

Lives Like A Drunken Sailor On A Mast, Ready With Every Nod To Tumble Down Into The Fatal Bowels Of The Deep.