Our Enemies Are Our Outward Consciences.

This Rough Magic I Here Abjure And When I Have Required Some Heavenly Music, Which Even Now I Do, To Work Mine End Upon Their Senses That This Airy Charm Is For, I'll Break My Staff, Bury It Certain Fathoms In The Earth, And Deeper Than Did Ever Plummet Sound, I'll Drown My Book.

Beware Of Entrance To A Quarrel, But, Being In, Bear T That Th' Opposed May Beware Of Thee.

Graze On My Lips; And If Those Hills Be Dry, Stray Lower, Where The Pleasant Fountains Lie.

His Heart As Far From Fraud As Heaven From Earth.

It Is That Fery Person For All The Orld, As Just As You Will Desire; And Seven Hundred Pounds Of Moneys, And Gold, And Silver, Is Her Grandsire Upon His Death's-bed-got Deliver To A Joyful Resurrections!