Shakespeare's name, you may depend on it, stands absurdly too high and will go down.

Let joy be unconfined.

And wrinkles, the damned democrats, won't flatter.

Self-love for ever creeps out, like a snake, to sting anything which happens to stumble upon it.

What makes a regiment of soldiers a more noble object of view than the same mass of mob? Their arms, their dresses, their banners, and the art and artificial symmetry of their position and movements.

Go let thy less than woman's hand Assume the distaff not the brand.

I am the very slave of circumstance And impulse -- borne away with every breath!