A Smile Cures The Wounding

I Can Again Thy Former Light Restore, Should I Repent Me: But Once Put Out Thy Light, Thou Cunning'st Pattern Of Excelling Nature, I Know Not Where Is That Promethean Heat That Can Thy Light Relume.

Is This A Vision? Is This A Dream? Do I Sleep?

Shall We Upon The Footing Of Our Land Send Fair-play Orders, And Make Compromise, Insinuation, Parley, And Base Truce, To Arms Invasive?

I Am Sir Oracle, And When I Ope My Lips, Let No Dog Bark.

Abandon All Remorse; On Horror's Head Horrors Accumulate.