A Dream Itself Is But A Shadow.

Eye Of Newt, And Toe Of Frog, Wool Of Bat, And Tongue Of Dog, Adder's Fork, And Blind-worm's Sting, Lizard's Leg, And Owlet's Wing, For A Charm Of Powerful Trouble, Like A Hell-broth Boil And Bubble.

I Once Did Hold It, As Our Statists Do, A Baseness To Write Fair, And Labour'd Much How To Forget That Learning; But, Sir, Now It Did Me Yeoman's Service.

It Is The Witness Still Of Excellency To Put A Strange Face On His Own Perfection.

Like One Who Draws The Model Of A House Beyond His Power To Build It Who, Half Through, Gives O'er, And Leaves His Part-created Cost A Naked Subject To The Weeping Clouds.

What Is The City But The People?