To England Will I Steal, And There

For What Good Turn? Messenger: For The Best Turn Of The Bed.

Therefore I Tell My Sorrows To The Stones; Who, Though They Cannot Answer My Distress, Yet In Some Sort They Are Better Than The Tribunes, For That They Will Not Intercept My Tale: When I Do Weep, They Humbly At My Feet Receive My Tears And Seem To Weep With Me; And, Were They But Attired In Grave Weeds, Rome Could Afford No Tribune Like To These.

We Cannot All Be Masters, Nor All Masters Cannot Be Truly Followed.

Speak On, But Be Not Over-tedious.

I Love You More Than Word Can Wield The Matter, Dearer Than Eye-sight, Space And Liberty