I Cannot But Remember Such Things Were

Teach Me, Dear Creature, How To Think And Speak; Lay Open To My Earthy-gross Conceit, Smother'd In Errors, Feeble, Shallow, Weak, The Folded Meaning Of Your Words' Deceit.

What A Piece Of Work Is A Man

Make The Doors Upon A Woman's Wit, And It Will Out At The Casement; Shut That, And 'twill Out At The Key-hole; Stop That, 'twill Fly With The Smoke Out At The Chimney.

O! For A Muse Of Fire, That Would Ascend The Brightest Heaven Of Invention.

Within The Book And Volume Of Thy Brain.