Thou Seest We Are Not

Nor Stony Tower, Nor Walls Of Beaten Brass, Nor Airless Dungeon, Nor Strong Links Of Iron, Can Be Retentive To The Strength Of Spirit; But Life, Being Weary Of These Worldly Bars, Never Lacks Power To Dismiss Itself.

Tis But A Base, Ignoble Mind That Mounts No Higher Than A Bird Can Soar.

We Must Be Brief When Traitors Brave The Field.

Rumour Doth Double, Like The Voice And Echo, The Numbers Of The Feared.

Thou Lump Of Foul Deformity!