They Are Hare-brain'd Slaves.

. . . 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.

When I Have Plucked The Rose, I Cannot Give It Vital Growth Again, It Needs Must Wither. I'll Smell It On The Tree.

Do You See Yonder Cloud That’s Almost In Shape Of A Camel? Polonius: By The Mass, And ‘tis Like A Camel, Indeed. Hamlet: Methinks It Is Like A Weasel. Polonius: It Is Backed Like A Weasel. Hamlet: Or Like A Whale? Polonius: Very Like A Whale.

Then Is It Sin To Rush Into The Secret House Of Death. Ere Death Dare Come To Us?

Thou Hast Seen A Farmer's Dog Bark At A Beggar? And The Creature Run From The Cur. There Thou Mightst Behold The Great Image Of Authority-a Dog's Obeyed In Office.