Blessings Of Your Heart, You Brew Good

Macbeth To Witches: What Are These So Wither'd And So Wild In Their Attire, That Look Not Like Th' Inhabitants O' Th' Earth, And Yet Are On 't?

No, By My Soul, I Never In My Life Did Hear A Challenge Urged More Modestly, Unless A Brother Should A Brother Dare To Gentle Exercise And Proof Of Arms.

Who Would Be So Mocked With Glory, Or To Live But In A Dream Of Friendship, To Have His Pomp And All What State Compounds But Only Painted, Like His Varnished Friends?

There Are A Sort Of Men, Whose Visages Do Cream And Mantle, Like A Standing Pond; And Do A Willful Stillness Entertain, With Purpose To Be Dressed In An Opinion Of Wisdom, Gravity Profound Conceit; As Who Should Say, I Am Sir Oracle, And When I Ope My Lips, Let No Dog Bark!

All Impediments In Fancy's Course Are Motives Of More Fancy.