In Thy Face I See

A Rotten Case Abides No Handling.

O Polished Perturbation! Golden Care! That Keep'st The Ports Of Slumber Open Wide To Many A Watchful Night.

O, Where Is Loyalty? If It Be Banished From The Frosty Head, Where Shall It Find A Harbor In The Earth?

Conceal Me What I Am, And Be My Aid For Such Disguise As Haply Shall Become The Form Of My Intent.

Doubt Is A Thief That Often Makes Us Fear To Tread Where We Might Have Won.