There Is No Vice So Simple But

Man, Proud Man, Drest In A Little Brief Authority, Most Ignorant Of What He's Most Assured.

. . . It Is Impossible You Should Take True Root But By The Fair Weather That You Make Yourself It Is Needful That You Frame The Season Of Your Own Harvest.

Angels And Ministers Of Grace Defend Us! Be Thou A Spirit Of Health, Or Goblin Damn'd, Bring With Thee Airs From Heaven, Or Blasts From Hell, Be Thy Intents Wicked, Or Charitable, Thou Com'st In Such A Questionable Shape, That I Will Speak To Thee.

Nothing Routs Us But The Villainy Of Our Fears.

Your Gentleness Shall Force More Than Your Force Move Us To Gentleness.