Demand Me Nothing: What You

I Had Rather Have A Fool To Make Me Merry Than Experience To Make Me Sad And To Travel For It Too!

Blow, Winds, And Crack Your Cheeks! Rage! Blow! You Cataracts And Hurricanoes, Spout Till You Have Drenched Our Teeples, Drowned The Cocks! You Sulphurour And Thought-executing Fires, Vaunt-couriers To Oak-cleaving Thunderbolts, Singe My White Head! And Thou, All-shaking Thunder, Strike Flat The Thick Rotundity O' The World! Crack Nature's Molds, All Germens Spill At Once That Make Ingrateful Man!

A Golden Mind Stoops Not To Shows Of Dross.

That England, That Was Wont To Conquer Others, Hath Made A Shameful Conquest Of Itself.

Silence Is The Perfectest Herault Of Joy. I Were But Little Happy If I Could Say How Much.