This Making Of Christians Will Raise The

Oft Expectation Fails, And Most Oft There Where Most It Promises; And Oft It Hits Where Hope Is Coldest, And Despair Most Fits.

O, Then I See Queen Mab Hath Been With You. . . . She Is The Fairies’ Midwife, And She Comes In Shape No Bigger Than An Agate Stone On The Forefinger Of An Alderman, Drawn With A Team Of Little Atomi Athwart Men’s Noses As They Lie Asleep.

Thus Can The Demigod Authority Make Us Pay Down For Our Offense By Weight The Words Of Heaven; On Whom It Will, It Will, On Whom It Will Not, So: Yet Still 'tis Just.

I Had Rather Be A Kitten, And Cry Mew, Than One Of These Same Meeter Ballad-mongers: I Had Rather Heare A Brazen Candlestick Turn'd, Or A Dry Wheele Grate On The Axle-tree, And That Would Set My Teeth Nothing An Edge, Nothing So Much, As Mincing Poetrie.

Lady, With Me, With Me Thy Fortune Lies.