In Time We Hate That Which We

We Know What We Are, But Know Not What We May Be.

The Cunning Livery Of Hell.

Poor Wretches That Depend On Greatness' Favor, Dream As I Have Done; Wake, And Find Nothing.

Speak, What Trade Art Thou? Why, Sir, A Carpenter. Where Is Thy Leather Apron And Thy Rule? What Does Thou With Thy Best Apparel On?

Come Unto These Yellow Sands, And Then Take Hands. Curtsied When You Have And Kissed The Wild Waves Whist, Foot Is Featly Here And There; And, Sweet Sprites, The Burden Bear. Ariel's Song, Scene Ii, Act I