How Many Fond Fools Serve Mad Jealousy!

O Wretched State! O Bosom Black As Death!

Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer's Day?

And Send Him Many Years Of Sunshine Days!

There Is A History In All Men's Lives, Figuring The Nature Of The Times Deceased, The Which Observed, A Man May Prophesy, With A Near Aim, Of The Main Chance Of Things As Yet Not Come To Life, Which In Their Seeds And Weak Beginnings Lie Intreasured.

Tis But A Base, Ignoble Mind That Mounts No Higher Than A Bird Can Soar.