Let Those That Play Your

There's Nothing Ill Can Dwell In Such A Temple. If The Ill Spirit Have So Fair A House, Good Things Will Strive To Dwell With't

So Well Thy Words Become Thee As Thy Wounds.

An Habitation Giddy And Unsure Hath He That Buildeth On The Vulgar Heart.

Dreams, Indeed, Are Ambition; For The Very Substance Of The Ambitious Is Merely The Shadow Of A Dream. And I Hold Ambition Of So Airy And Light A Quality That It Is But A Shadow's Shadow.

Who Are The Violets Now That Strew The Lap Of The New-come Spring?