When Truth Kills Truth, O Devilish Holy

Virtuous And Fair, Royal And Gracious.

How Many Things By Season Seasoned Are To Their Right Praise And True Perfection!

Dreams, Indeed, Are Ambition; For The Very Substance Of The Ambitious Is Merely The Shadow Of A Dream. And I Hold Ambition Of So Airy And Light A Quality That It Is But A Shadow's Shadow.

But It Is A Melancholy Of Mine Own, Compounded Of Many Simples, Extracted From Many Objects, And Indeed The Sundry Contemplation Of My Travels, Which, By Often Rumination, Wraps Me In The Most Humorous Sadness.

Think, When We Talk Of Horses, That You See Them Printing Their Proud Hoofs I' The Receiving Earth.