Never Durst Poet Touch A Pen To

Love Is The Greatest Of Dreams, Yet The Worst Of Nightmares.

It Is A Heretic That Makes The Fire, Not She Which Burns In It.

Lay On, Mcduff, And Be Damned He Who First Cries, 'hold, Enough!

To Stand Against The Deep Dread-bolted Thunder, In The Most Terrible And Nimble Stroke Of Quick, Cross Lightning.

I Have Very Poor And Unhappy Brains For Drinking: I Could Well Wish Courtesy Would Invent Some Other Custom Of Entertainment.