I Came, Saw, And Overcame.

Poor Wretches That Depend On Greatness' Favor, Dream As I Have Done; Wake, And Find Nothing.

Thy Wish Was Father, Harry, To That Thought.

This Music Crept By Me Upon The Waters, Allaying Both Their Fury And My Passion With Its Sweet Air: Thence I Have Follow’d It.

Speak The Speech, I Pray You, As I Pronounced It To You-trippingly On The Tongue; But If You Mouth It, As Many Of Your Players Do, I Had As Lief The Town-crier Spoke My Lines. Nor Do Not Saw The Air Too Much With Your Hand, Thus, But Use All Gently; For In The Very Torrent, Tempest, And As I May Say, The Whirlwind Of Your Passion, You Must Acquire And Beget A Temperance That May Give It Smoothness.

Be Not Thy Tongue Thy Own Shame's Orator.