Woes cluster. Rare are solitary woes; They love a train, they tread each other's heel.

How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, How complicate, how wonderful, is man!... Midway from nothing to the Deity!

Revere thyself, and yet thyself despise

Some for renown, on scraps of learning dote, And think they grow immortal as they quote.

But fate ordains that dearest friends must part.

Early, bright, transient, chaste as morning dew, She sparkled, was exhaled, and went to heaven.

Who knows if Shakespeare might not have thought less if he had read more?