If I Lose At Play, I Blaspheme;

Our Faults Are Not Seen, But Past Us; Neither Felt, But Only In The Punishment.

Nature Hath No Goal Though She Hath Law.

To An Incompetent Judge I Must Not Lie, But I May Be Silent; To A Competent I Must Answer.

Nothing But Man Of All Envenomed Things, Doth Work Upon Itself, With Inborn Stings.

Our Two Souls Therefore, Which Are One, Though I Must Go, Endure Not Yet A Breach, But An Expansion, Like Gold To Airy Thinness Beat. If They Be Two, They Are Two So As Stiff Twin Compasses Are Two; Thy Soul, The Fixed Foot, Makes No Show To Move, But Doth If Th' Other Do. And Though It In The Center Sit, Yet When The Other Far Doth Roam, It Leans And Hearkens After It, And Grows Erect, As That Comes Home. Suth Wilt Thou Be To Me, Who Must Like Th' Other Foot, Obliquely Run; Thy Firmness Makes My Circle Just, And Makes Me End Where I Began.