Well-apparel'd April On The Heel Of Limping

This Is The Very Coinage Of Your Brain: This Bodiless Creation Ecstasy.

And He Goes Through Life, His Mouth Open, And His Mind Closed.

Thrice Is He Arm'd That Hath His Quarrel Just, And He But Naked, Though Lock'd Up In Steel, Whose Conscience With Injustice Is Corrupted.

Never Play With The Feelings Of Others, Because You May Win The Game But The Risk Is That You Will Surely Lose The Person For Life Time

If The Skin Were Parchment And The Blows You Gave Were Ink, Your Own Handwriting Would Tell You What I Think.