No, Cassius; For The Eye Sees Not

I Once Did Hold It, As Our Statists Do, A Baseness To Write Fair, And Labour'd Much How To Forget That Learning; But, Sir, Now It Did Me Yeoman's Service.

O Momentary Grace Of Mortal Men, Which We More Hunt For Than The Grace Of God!

Though Fortune's Malice Overthrow My State, My Mind Exceeds The Compass Of Her Wheel.

And Nothing Is, But What Is Not.

Since My Dear Soul Was Mistress Of Her Choice And Could Of Men Distinguish Her Election, Sh'ath Sealed Thee For Herself.