Where It Concerns Himself, Who's Angry At

I Glory, More In The Cunning Purchase Of My Wealth Than In The Glad Possession.

Chance Will Not Do The Work. Chance Sends The Breeze; But If The Pilot Slumber At The Helm, The Very Wind That Wafts Us Tow'rds The Port May Dash Us On The Shoals. The Steersman's Part Is Vigilance, Or Blow It Rough Or Smooth.

Love That Is Ignorant And Hatred Have Almost The Same Ends.

Soul Of The Age! The Applause! Delight! The Wonder Of Our Stage!

It Strikes! One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six. Enough, Enough, Dear Watch, Thy Pulse Hath Beat Enough. Now Sleep And Rest; Would Thou Could'st Make The Time To Do So Too; I'll Wind Thee Up No More.