I Love Thee; None But Thee, And

How Poor Are They That Have Have Not Patients.

The Ides Of March Are Come. Soothsayer: Ay, Caesar; But Not Gone.

There's Rosemary And Rue. These Keep Seeming And Savor All The Winter Long. Grace And Remembrance Be To You.

Abate The Edge Of Traitors, Gracious Lord, That Would Reduce These Bloody Days Again And Make Poor England Weep In Streams Of Blood! Let Them Not Live To Taste This Land's Increase That Would With Treason Wound This Fair Land's Peace! Now Civil Wounds Are Stopped, Peace Lives Again: That She May Long Live Here, God Say Amen!

Th Abuse Of Greatness Is When It Disjoins Remorse From Power.