He Does It With Better Grace, But

No Man's Pie Is Freed From His Ambitious Finger.

For God's Sake, Let Us Sit Upon The Ground, And Tell Sad Stories Of The Death Of Kings... All Murdered; For Within The Hollow Crown That Rounds The Mortal Temples Of A King, Keeps Death His Court... And With A Little Pin Bores Through His Castle Wall, And Farewell King!

And He Goes Through Life, His Mouth Open, And His Mind Closed.

Tis Safter To Be That Which We Destroy Than By Destruction Dwell In Doubtful Joy.

Men So Noble, However Faulty, Yet Should Find Respect For What They Have Been: 'tis A Cruelty To Load A Falling Man.