More Fools Know Jack Fool Than Jack

My Heart Laments That Virtue Cannot Live Out Of The Teeth Of Emulation.

But I Will Wear My Heart Upon My Sleeve For Daws To Peck At: I Am Not What I Am.

I Have Touch'd The Highest Point Of All My Greatness, And From That Full Meridian Of My Glory I Haste Now To My Setting.

The Wind-shak'd Surge, With High And Monstrous Main, Seems To Cast Water On The Burning Bear, And Quench The Guards Of The Ever-fixed Pole.

Thy Wit Is A Very Bitter Sweeting; It Is A Most Sharp Sauce.