By Jove, I Am Not Covetous For

A Knavish Speech Sleeps In A Fool's Ear.

Call Me What Instrument You Will, Though You Can Fret Me, You Cannot Play Upon Me.

Plenty And Peace Breed Cowards; Hardness Ever Of Hardiness Is Mother.

Thou Hast Nor Youth Nor Age But As It Were An After Dinner Sleep Dreaming Of Both.

But Whate'er You Are That In This Desert Inaccessible, Under The Shade Of Melancholy Boughs, Lose And Neglect The Creeping Hours Of Time; If You Have Ever Looked On Better Days, If Ever Been Where Bells Knoll'd To Church, If Ever Sat At Any Good Man's Feast, If Ever From Your Eyelids Wiped A Tear, And Know What 'tis To Pity And Be Pitied, Let Gentleness My Strong Enforcement Be. . . .