It Is Not Vain Glory For A

The Prize Of All Too Precious You.

So May He Rest, His Faults Lie Gently On Him!

Therefore, To Be Possess'd With Double Pomp, To Guard A Title That Was Rich Before, To Gild Refined Gold, To Paint The Lily, To Throw A Perfume On The Violet, To Smooth The Ice, Or Add Another Hue Unto The Rainbow, Or With Taper-light To Seek The Beauteous Eye Of Heaven To Garnish, Is Wasteful And Ridiculous Excess.

I Hold The World But As The World, Gratiano!

And Ruin`d Love When It Is Built Anew, Grows Fairer Than At First, More Strong, Far Greater