That Truth Should Be Silent I Had

Kent. Where's The King? Gent. Contending With The Fretful Elements; Bids The Wind Blow The Earth Into The Sea, Or Swell The Curled Waters 'bove The Main, That Things Might Change Or Cease; Tears His White Hair, Which The Impetuous Blasts, With Eyeless Rage, Catch In Their Fury And Make Nothing Of; Strives In His Little World Of Man To Outscorn The To-and-fro-conflicting Wind And Rain. This Night, Wherein The Cub-drawn Bear Would Couch, The Lion And The Belly-pinched Wolf Keep Their Fur Dry, Unbonneted He Runs, And Bids What Will Take All.

He Took The Bride About The Neck And Kissed Her Lips With Such A Clamorous Smack That At The Parting All The Church Did Echo.

The People Are The City.

I Wish You Well And So I Take My Leave, I Pray You Know Me When We Meet Again.

Take You Me For A Sponge?