All Things Are Ready, If Our Mind

I'll Make Death Love Me; For I Will Contend Even With His Pestilent Scythe.

And Thence From Athens Turn Away Our Eyes To Seek New Friends And Stranger Companies.

He Draweth Out The Thread Of His Verbosity Finer Than The Staple Of His Argument.

When Law Can Do No Right, Let It Be Lawful That Law Bar No Wrong.

This Fellow Is Wise Enough To Play The Fool; And To Do That Well Craves A Kind Of Wit: He Must Observe Their Mood On Whom He Jests, The Quality Of Persons, And The Time, And, Like The Haggard, Check At Every Feather That Comes Before His Eye. This Is A Practise As Full Of Labour As A Wise Man's Art For Folly That He Wisely Shows Is Fit; But Wise Men, Folly-fall'n, Quite Taint Their Wit.