The Mind Of Guilt Is Full Of

Bad Is The Trade That Must Play Fool To Sorrow, Ang'ring Itself And Others.

Speak The Speech, I Pray You, As I Pronounc'd It To You, Trippingly On The Tongue.

O That Men's Ears Should Be To Counsel Deaf But Not To Flattery!

I Have Nothing Of Woman In Me; Now From Head To Foot I Am Marble-constant.

How Sweet The Moonlight Sleeps Upon This Bank! Here Will We Sit, And Let The Sounds Of Music Creep In Our Ears; Soft Stillness And The Night Become The Touches Of Sweet Harmony. Sit, Jessica: Look, How The Floor Of Heaven Is Thick Inlaid With Patines Of Bright Gold; There's Not The Smallest Orb Which Thou Behold'st But In His Motion Like An Angel Sings, Still Quiring To The Young-eyed Cherubins. Such Harmony Is In Immortal Souls; But Whilst This Muddy Vesture Of Decay Doth Grossly Close It In, We Cannot Hear It.