Most Subject Is The Fattest Soil To

Tis In Ourselves That We Are Thus, Or Thus.

O That My Tongue Were In The Thunder's Mouth! Then With Passion Would I Shake The World, And Rouse From Sleep That Fell Anatomy Which Cannot Hear A Lady's Feeble Voice, Which Scorns A Modern Invocation.

Gloucester: Yet So Much Is My Poverty Of Spirit, So Mighty And So Many My Defects, As I Had Rather Hide Me From My Greatness, Being A Bark To Brook No Mighty Sea, Than In My Greatness Covet To Be Hid, And In The Vapour Of My Glory Smother'd. But God Be Thanked. . . .

Don't Judge A Man's Conscience By Looking At His Face Cause He May Have A Bad Heart.

And, If You Love Me, As I Think You Do, Let's Kiss And Part, For We Have Much To Do