I Have Unclasp'd To Thee The Book

But To My Mind, Though I Am Native Here, And To The Manner Born, It Is A Custom, More Honored In The Breach Than The Observance.

The Silence Often Of Pure Innocence Persuades When Speaking Fails.

Dispute Not With Her: She Is Lunatic.

As Flies To Wanton Boys, Are We To The Gods; They Kill Us For Their Sport.

And Oftentimes, To Win Us To Our Harm, The Instruments Of Darkness Tell Us Truths, Win Us With Honest Trifles, To Betray's In Deepest Consequence