Take You Me For A

Tear-falling Pity Dwells Not In This Eye.

Art Thou Not, Fatal Vision, Sensible To Feelings As To Sight?

My Will Enkindled By Mine Eyes And Ears, Two Traded Pilots 'twixt The Dangerous Shores Of Will And Judgment.

A College Of Wit-crackers Cannot Flout Me Out Of My Humor. Dost Thou Think I Care For A Satire Or An Epigram?

Mercy Is Not Itself, That Oft Looks So; Pardon Is Still The Nurse Of Second Woe.