Or Are You Like The Painting Of

The Web Of Our Life Is Of A Mingled Yarn, Good And Ill Together.

The Heavens Themselves, The Planets, And This Centre Observe Degree, Priority, And Place, Insisture, Course, Proportion, Season, Form, Office, And Custom, In All Line Of Order.

I'll Speak In A Monstrous Little Voice.

Put Forth Thy Hand, Reach At The Glorious Gold.

Mercy Is Not Itself, That Oft Looks So; Pardon Is Still The Nurse Of Second Woe.