We Are Time's Subjects, And Time Bids

For 'tis The Sport To Have The Engineerhoist With His Own Petard.

For Conspiracy, I Know Not How It Tastes, Though It Be Dished For Me To Try How.

Let Not Our Babbling Dreams Affright Our Souls; Conscience Is But A Work That Cowards Use, Devised At First To Keep The Strong In Awe: Our Strong Arms Be Our Conscience, Swords Our Law!

Of One That Lov'd Not Wisely But Too Well.

Were Beauty Under Twenty Locks Kept Fast, Yet Love Breaks Through And Picks Them All At Last.