The Seeming Truth Which Cunning Times Put

When The Mind's Free, The Body's Delicate.

I Have Not Slept. Between The Acting Of A Dreadful Thing And The First Motion, All The Interim Is Like A Phantasma, Or A Hideous Dream: The Genius And The Mortal Instruments Are Then In Council; And The State Of Man, Like To A Little Kingdom, Suffers Then The Nature Of An Insurrection.

Highly Fed And Lowly Taught.

How Ill White Hairs Become A Fool And Jester!

This Day's Black Fate On More Days Doth Depend; This But Begins The Woe, Others Must End.