Glory Is Like A Circle

I Have Very Poor And Unhappy Brains For Drinking: I Could Well Wish Courtesy Would Invent Some Other Custom Of Entertainment.

I, Thus Neglecting Worldly Ends, All Dedicated To Closeness And The Bettering Of My Mind.

So Many Horrid Ghosts.

Though Now This Grained Face Of Mine Be Hid In Sap-consuming Winter's Drizzled Snow, And All The Conduits Of My Blood Froze Up, Yet Hath My Night Of Life Some Memory, My Wasting Lamps Some Fading Glimmer Left, My Dull Deaf Ears A Little Use To Hear.

Look How The World's Poor People Are Amazed At Apparitions, Signs And Prodigies!