A Horse, A Horse, My Kingdom For

How Slow This Old Moon Wanes! She Lingers My Desires, Like To A Stepdame, Or A Dowager, Long Withering Out A Young Man's Revenue.

O England! Model To Thy Inward Greatness, Like Little Body With A Might Heart.

Love Yourself; And In That Love Not Unconsidered Leave Your Honor.

My Thoughts Are Whirled Like A Potter's Wheel; I Know Not Where I Am Nor What I Do.

The Rarer Action Is In Virtue Than In Vengeance.