He Does It With Better Grace, But

Pardon, Gentles All, The Flat Unraised Spirits That Have Dared On This Unworthy Scaffold To Bring Forth So Great An Object.

And In The Morn And Liquid Dew Of Youth, Contagious Blastments Are Are Most Imminent.

The Voice Of Parents Is The Voice Of Gods, For To Their Children They Are Heaven's Lieutenants.

What Man Art Thou That, Thus Bescreened In Night, So Stumblest On My Counsel? *who Are You? Why Do You Hide In The Darkness And Listen To My Private Thoughts?*

Wisely, And Slow. They Stumble That Run Fast.