Take Pains. Be Perfect.

Wherefore Was I To This Keen Mockery Born? When At Your Hands Did I Deserve This Scorn? Is't Not Enough, Is't Not Enough, Young Man, That I Did Never, No, Nor Never Can, Deserve A Sweet Look From Demetrius' Eye, But You Must Flout My Insufficiency?

It Is Lost At Dice, What Ancient Honor Won.

Sound Trumpets! Let Our Bloody Colours Wave! And Either Victory, Or Else A Grave.

We Were Not Born To Sue, But To Command.

Tis Beauty That Doth Oft Make Women Proud; But, God He Knows, Thy Share Thereof Is Small.