We Are The Lords Of

Why Should You Think That I Should Woo In Scorn? Scorn And Derision Never Come In Tears: Look, When I Vow, I Weep; And Vows So Born, In Their Nativity All Truth Appears. How Can These Things In Me Seem Scorn To You, Bearing The Badge Of Faith, To Prove Them True?

They May Seize On The White Wonder Of Dear Juliet's Hand And Steal Immortal Blessing From Her Lips, Who, Even In Pure And Vestal Modesty, Still Blush, As Thinking Their Own Kisses Sin.

A Woman Is A Dish For The Gods, If The Devil Dress Her Not.

Thriftless Ambition, That Wilt Ravin Up Thine Own Life's Means!

For Conspiracy, I Know Not How It Tastes, Though It Be Dished For Me To Try How.