If It Will Feed Nothing Else, It

The Best Is Yet To Come.

He That Will Have A Cake Out Of The Wheat Must Tarry The Grinding. Have I Not Tarried? Ay, The Grinding; But You Must Tarry The Bolting. Have I Not Tarried? Ay, The Bolting; But You Must Tarry The Leavening. Still Have I Tarried. Ay, To The Leavening; But Here's Yet In The Word 'hereafter' The Kneading, The Making Of The Cake, The Heating Of The Oven, And The Baking; Nay, You Must Stay The Cooling Too, Or You May Chance To Burn Your Lips.

This Most Excellent Canopy, The Air, Look You, This Brave O-erhanging Firmament, This Majestical Roof Fretted With Golden Fire.

I Shall Show The Cinders Of My Spirits Through The Ashes Of My Chance.

Let Us Be Diana's Foresters, Gentlemen Of The Shade, Minions Of The Moon