If You Would Persuade, You Must Appeal

I Can Give The Loser Leave To Chide.

But Thy Eternal Summer Shall Not Fade.

Plain And Not Honest Is Too Harsh A Style.

Some Are Born Great, Some Achieve Greatness, And Some Have Greatness Thrust Upon Them.

Give Me Mine Angle, We'll To Th' River: There, My Music Playing Far Off, I Will Betray Tawny-finned Fishes. My Bended Hook Shall Pierce Their Slimy Jaws; And As I Draw Them Up, I'll Think Them Every One An Antony, And Say, 'ah, Ha! Are Caught!'