O All You Host Of Heaven! O

Speak Of Me As I Am. Nothing Extenuate, Nor Set Down Aught In Malice.

The Brain May Devise Laws For The Blood, But A Hot Temper Leaps O'er A Cold Decree.

Not From The Stars Do I My Judgement Pluck, And Yet Methinks I Have Astronomy. But Not To Tell Of Good Or Evil Luck, Of Plagues, Of Dearths, Or Season's Quality; Nor Can I Fortune To Brief Minutes Tell ... Or Say With Princes If It Shall Go Well.

Methinks A Father Is At The Nuptial Of His Son A Guest That Best Becomes The Table.

Art Thou Afeard To Be The Same In Thine Own Act And Valour As Thou Art In Desire? Wouldst Thou Have That Which Thou Esteem'st The Ornament Of Life, And Live A Coward In Thine Own Esteem, Letting 'i Dare Not' Wait Upon 'i Would,' Like The Poor Cat I' The Adage?