Bounty, being free itself, thinks all others so.

As chaste as unsunned snow.

Let them obey that knows not how to rule.

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, Shakes so my single state of man That function is smothered in surmise, And nothing is but what is not.

Spirits are not finely touched But to fine issues, nor Nature never lends The smallest scruple of her excellence But like a thrifty goddess she determines Herself the glory of a creditor,Both thanks and use.

All his successors gone before him have done 't; and all his ancestors that come after him may.