How Lush And Lusty The Grass Looks!

Conceal Me What I Am, And Be My Aid For Such Disguise As Haply Shall Become The Form Of My Intent.

Tis Time To Fear When Tyrants Seem To Kiss.

Yet Do I Fear Thy Nature; It Is Too Full O' The Milk Of Human Kindness To Catch The Nearest Way: Thou Wouldst Be Great; Art Not Without Ambition, But Without The Illness Should Attend It: What Thou Wouldst Highly, That Wouldst Thou Holily; Wouldst Not Play False, And Yet Wouldst Wrongly Win.

Care Is No Cure, But Rather Corrosive, For Things That Are Not To Be Remedied.

But No Perfection Is So Absolute, That Some Impurity Doth Not Pollute.