I Understand A Fury In

What's His Offense? Groping For Trout In A Peculiar River.

Rumour: "upon My Tongues Continual Slanders Ride, The Which In Every Language I Pronounce, Stuffing The Ears Of Men With False Reports.

Mine Eyes Smell Onions: I Shall Weep Anon.

I Cannot, Nor I Will Not Hold Me Still; My Tongue, Though Not My Heart, Shall Have His Will.

O Sir, You Are Old; Nature In You Stands On The Very Verge Of Her Confine; You Should Be Ruled And Led By Some Discretion, That Discerns Your Fate Better Than You Yourself.