As I Love The Name

In Time The Savage Bull Doth Bear The Yoke.

The Fewer Men, The Greater Share Of Honor.

There Is Some Soul Of Goodness In Things Evil, Would Men Observingly Distill It Out.

Yet Do I Fear Thy Nature; It Is Too Full O' The Milk Of Human Kindness To Catch The Nearest Way: Thou Wouldst Be Great; Art Not Without Ambition, But Without The Illness Should Attend It: What Thou Wouldst Highly, That Wouldst Thou Holily; Wouldst Not Play False, And Yet Wouldst Wrongly Win.

I Stalk About Her Door, Like A Strange Soul Upon The Stygian Banks Staying For Waftage.