Tis The Times' Plague, When Madmen Lead

Farewell The Plumed Troop, And The Big Wars That Make Ambition Virtue! O, Farewell! Farewell The Neighing Steed And The Shrill Trump, The Spirit-stirring Drum, Th' Ear-piercing Fife, The Royal Banner, And All Quality, Pride, Pomp, And Circumstance Of Glorious War!

You Abilities Are Too Infant-like For Doing Much Alone.

It Is Silliness To Live When To Live Is Torment, And Then Have We A Prescription To Die When Death Is Our Physician.

I Have Heard Of Some Kind Of Men That Put Quarrels Purposely On Others, To Taste Their Valor.

And, If You Love Me, As I Think You Do, Let's Kiss And Part, For We Have Much To Do