Diseases Desperate Grown By Desperate Appliances Are

I Am Not Yet Of Percy's Mind, The Hotspur Of The North; He That Kills Me Some Six Or Seven Dozen Of Scots As A Breakfast, Washes His Hands, And Says To His Wife, 'fie Upon This Quiet Life! I Want Work.

We Go To Gain A Little Patch Of Ground That Hath In It No Profit But The Name.

What We Determine We Often Break. Purpose Is But The Slave To Memory.

Do You Not Know I Am A Woman? When I Think, I Must Speak.

The King's Name Is A Tower Of Strength.