Who are these that call me thus? Anon they are, and I do not trust
When they hail but no message leave
Something nefarious up their sleeve?

Strumpets  and knaves, my lord; strumpets  and knaves.

Ah! A little more than kin, and less than kind. For Brevity is the soul of wit. Knaves you say? Conscience is but a word that cowards use, devised at first to keep the strong in awe. The world is grown so bad, that wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch. (with a nod to 'Hamlet' & 'Richard the 3rd')