The Breach Of Custom Is Breach Of

O, A Kiss Long As My Exile, Sweet As My Revenge! Now, By The Jealous Queen Of Heaven, That Kiss I Carried From Thee, Dear, And My True Lip Hath Virgined It E'er Since.

There Is No More Mercy In Him Than There Is Milk In A Male Tiger.

Be Lion-mettled, Proud, And Take No Care Who Chafes, Who Frets, Or Where Conspirers Are!

Report Me And My Cause Aright.

Thou Hast Not Half That Power To Do Me Harm As I Have To Be Hurt.