There Is Flattery In Friendship.

Through Tattered Clothes, Small Vices Do Appear. Robes And Furred Gowns Hide All.

Is This A Dagger Which I See Before Me, The Handle Toward My Hand? Come, Let Me Clutch Thee. I Have Thee Not, And Yet I See Thee Still. Art Thou Not, Fatal Vision, Sensible To Feeling As To Sight? Or Art Thou But A Dagger Of The Mind, A False Creation, Proceeding From The Heat-oppressed Brain?

Thou Shalt Be Free As Mountain Winds: But Then Exactly Do All Points Of My Command.

Profit Is A Blessing, If It's Not Stolen.

As A Decrepit Father Takes Delight To See His Active Child Do Deeds Of Youth, So I, Made Lame By Fortune's Dearest Spite, Take All My Comfort Of Thy Worth And Truth.