Sol non occidat super iracundiam vestram
Caste swordes awaye, take laurell in your handes,
Let not the Sonne goe downe uppon your ire.
Let hartes relente, and breake oulde rancors bandes,
And frendshippes force subdue your rashe desire.
Let desperate wightes, and ruffians, thirst for
blood;
Winne foes, with love; and thinke your conquest
good.