Friendship Is Full Of Dregs.

Let No Such Man Be Trusted.

Lords, I Protest My Soul Is Full Of Woe That Blood Should Sprinkle Me To Make Me Grow. Come, Mourn With Me For What I Do Lament, And Put Sullen Black Incontinent. I'll Make A Voyage To The Holy Land To Wash This Blood Off From My Guilty Hand. March Sadly After. Grace My Mournings Here In Weeping After This Untimely Bier.

I Stand For Judgment: Answer: Shall I Have It?

I Cannot Draw A Cart, Nor Eat Dried Oats; If It Be Man's Work, I'll Do't.

You Are A Tedious Fool.