The Due Of Honor In

Come, Lady, Die To Live.

Whereto Serves Mercy But To Confront The Visage Of Offense?

The Eagle Suffers Little Birds To Sing.

Glory Is Like A Circle In The Water, Which Never Ceaseth To Enlarge Itself, Till, By Broad Spreading, It Disperse To Naught.

But That The Dread Of Something After Death, The Undiscover'd Country From Whose Bourn No Traveller Returns, Puzzles The Will And Makes Us Rather Bear Those Ills We Have Than Fly To Others That We Know Not Of?