Yon Grey Lines That Fret The Clouds

The Will Of Man Is By His Reason Sway'd.

Speak The Speech, I Pray You, As I Pronounce It To You, Trippingly On The Tongue; But If You Mouth It, As Many Of Your Players Do, I Had As Lief The Town-crier Spoke My Lines.

Striving To Better, Oft We Mar What’s Well.

And Since You Know You Cannot See Yourself, So Well As By Reflection, I, Your Glass, Will Modestly Discover To Yourself, That Of Yourself Which You Yet Know Not Of.

O For A Horse With Wings!