Danger Knows Full Well That Caesar Is

Proper Deformity Shows Not In The Fiend So Horrid As In Woman.

Then Will I Raise Aloft The Milk-white Rose. For Whose Sweet Smell The Air Shall Be Perfumed.

This Blessèd Plot, This Earth, This Realm, This England This Nurse, This Teeming Womb Of Royal Kings, . . . This Land Of Such Dear Souls, This Dear Dear Land.

Fight, Gentlemen Of England! Fight, Bold Yeomen! Draw, Archers, Draw Your Arrows To The Head! Spur Your Proud Horses Hard, And Ride In Blood; Amaze The Welkin With Your Broken Staves!

But Yet, I Say, If Imputation And Strong Circumstances, Which Lead Directly To The Door Of Truth, Will Give You Satisfaction, You May Have It.