The Latter End Of A Fray, And

I Had Rather Chop This Hand Off At A Blow, And With The Other Fling It At Thy Face.

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

Modest Doubt Is Called The Beacon Of The Wise.

Never Anger Made Good Guard For Itself.

Thou Art A Soul In Bliss; But I Am Bound Upon A Wheel Of Fire; That Mine Own Tears Do Scald Like Molten Lead.