Farewell, Good Salisbury, And Good Luck Go

We Make Trifles Of Terrors, Ensconcing Ourselves Into Seeming Knowledge, When We Should Submit Ourselves To An Unknown Fear.

Oh Why Rebuke You Him That Loves You So? / Lay Breath So Bitter On Your Bitter Foe.

I Have Not Slept. Between The Acting Of A Dreadful Thing And The First Motion, All The Interim Is Like A Phantasma, Or A Hideous Dream: The Genius And The Mortal Instruments Are Then In Council; And The State Of Man, Like To A Little Kingdom, Suffers Then The Nature Of An Insurrection.

Some Are Born Great, Some Achieve Greatness, And Some Have Greatness Thrust Upon Them.

And In The Morn And Liquid Dew Of Youth, Contagious Blastments Are Are Most Imminent.