On Pain Of Death, No

Advance Our Standards, Set Upon Our Foes; Our Ancient Word Of Courage, Fair Saint George, Inspire Us With The Spleen Of Fiery Dragons!

All The World Is A Stage And We Are Merely Players.

Most Subject Is The Fattest Soil To Weeds.

I Were Better To Be Eaten To Death With A Rust Than To Be Scoured To Nothing With Perpetual Motion.

Thou Art The Best O' The Cut-throats