My Heart Is Ever At

A Book? O, Rare One, Be Not, As Is Our Fangled World, A Garment Nobler Than That It Covers.

The Proverb Is Something Musty.

Slander, Whose Whisper Over The World's Diameter, As Level As The Cannon To Its Blank, Transports Its Poisoned Shot.

...too Much Sadness Hath Congealed Your Blood,and Melancholy Is The Nurse Of Frenzy.

The World Is Grown So Bad, That Wrens Make Prey Where Eagles Dare Not Perch.