Be Checked For Silence, But Never Taxed

Men At Sometime Are The Masters Of Their Fate.

Well, Honor Is The Subject Of My Story.

Upon Thy Cheek I Lay This Zealous Kiss, As Seal To The Indenture Of My Love.

He Was Not So Much Brain As Earwax

Prophet May You Be! If I Be False, Or Swerve A Hair From Truth, When Time Is Old And Hath Forgot Itself, When Waterdrops Have Worn The Stones Of Troy, And Blind Oblivion Swallowed Cities Up, And Mighty States Characterless Are Grated To Dusty Nothing, Yet Let Memory, From False To False, Among False Maids In Love, Upbraid My Falsehood!