Thou Art A Very Ragged Wart.

Their Manners Are More Gentle, Kind, Than Of Our Human Generation You Shall Find.

No Beast So Fierce But Knows Some Touch Of Pity. But I Know None, And Therefore Am No Beast.

He's Of The Colour Of The Nutmeg. And Of The Heat Of The Ginger.... He Is Pure Air And Fire; And The Dull Elements Of Earth And Water Never Appear In Him, But Only In Patient Stillness While His Rider Mounts Him; He Is Indeed A Horse, And All Other Jades You May Call Beasts.

O, Call Back Yesterday, Bid Time Return

Sometimes We Are Devils To Ourselves When We Will Tempt The Frailty Of Our Powers, Presuming On Their Changeful Potency.