I Am Too Old To

Age, I Do Abhor Thee, Youth, I Do Adore Thee.

Rumour Is A Pipe Blown By Surmises, Jealousies, Conjectures And Of So Easy And So Plain A Stop That The Blunt Monster With Uncounted Heads, The Still-discordant Wavering Multitude, Can Play Upon It.

For What I Will, I Will, And There An End.

Fortune Is Painted Blind, With A Muffler Afore Her Eyes, To Signify To You That Fortune Is Blind.

I Myself Am Best When Least In Company.