Therefore It Is Most Expedient For The

The Wind-shak'd Surge, With High And Monstrous Main, Seems To Cast Water On The Burning Bear, And Quench The Guards Of The Ever-fixed Pole.

The Instruments Of Darkness Tell Us Truths.

Prophet May You Be! If I Be False, Or Swerve A Hair From Truth, When Time Is Old And Hath Forgot Itself, When Waterdrops Have Worn The Stones Of Troy, And Blind Oblivion Swallowed Cities Up, And Mighty States Characterless Are Grated To Dusty Nothing, Yet Let Memory, From False To False, Among False Maids In Love, Upbraid My Falsehood!

He Is Not Worthy Of The Honey-comb, That Shuns The Hives Because The Bees Have Stings.

Love Denied Blights The Soul We Owe To God.