There Is No Slander In An Allowed

Who Has A Book Of All That Monarchs Do, He's More Secure To Keep It Shut Than Shown; For Vice Repeated Is Like The Wand'ring Wind, Blows Dust In Others' Eye, To Spread Itself; And Yet The End Of All Is Bought Thus Dear, The Breath Is Gone, And The Sore Eyes See Clear To Stop The Air Would Hurt Them.

This Is His Uncle's Teaching, This Worcester, Malevolent To You In All Aspects, Which Makes Him Prune Himself And Bristle Up The Crest Of Youth Against Your Dignity.

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!

It Is A Heretic That Makes The Fire, Not She Which Burns In It.

Never Play With The Feelings Of Others, Because You May Win The Game But The Risk Is That You Will Surely Lose The Person For Life Time