What Have We Here? A Man Or

For He Was Likely, Had He Been Put On, To Have Proved Most Royally.

Look What Thy Soul Holds Dear, Imagine It To Lie That Way Thou Goest, Not Whence Thou Com'st. Suppose The Singing Birds Musicians, The Grass Whereon Thou Tread'st The Presence Strewed, The Flowers Fair Ladies, And Thy Steps No More Than A Delight Measure Or A Dance; For Gnarling Sorrow Hath Less Power To Bite The Man That Mocks At It And Sets It Light.

Small To Greater Matters Must Give Way.

Let Me Embrace Thee, Sour Adversity, For Wise Men Say It Is The Wisest Course.

In Nature There's No Blemish But The Mind. None Can Be Called Deformed But The Unkind.