Out, You Tallow-face! You Baggage!

T'is True: There's Magic In The Web Of It.

So Musical A Discord, Such Sweet Thunder.

You Must Confine Yourself Within The Modest Limits Of Order.

I Cannot, Nor I Will Not Hold Me Still; My Tongue, Though Not My Heart, Shall Have His Will.

Our Purses Shall Be Proud, Our Garments Poor; For 'tis The Mind That Makes The Body Rich