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Should The Poor Be Flattered? No; Let The Candied Tongue Lick Absurd Pomp, And Crook The Pregnant Hinges Of The Knee Where Thrift May Follow Fawning.

-William Shakespeare

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Should The Poor Be

William Shakespeare

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Should The Poor Be Flattered? No; Let The Candied Tongue Lick Absurd Pomp, And Crook The Pregnant Hinges Of The Knee Where Thrift May Follow Fawning.

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Kent. Where's The King? Gent. Contending With The Fretful Elements; Bids The Wind Blow The Earth Into The Sea, Or Swell The Curled Waters 'bove The Main, That Things Might Change Or Cease; Tears His White Hair, Which The Impetuous Blasts, With Eyeless Rage, Catch In Their Fury And Make Nothing Of; Strives In His Little World Of Man To Outscorn The To-and-fro-conflicting Wind And Rain. This Night, Wherein The Cub-drawn Bear Would Couch, The Lion And The Belly-pinched Wolf Keep Their Fur Dry, Unbonneted He Runs, And Bids What Will Take All.

Brutus, I Do Observe You Now Of Late: I Have Not From Your Eyes That Gentleness And Show Of Love As I Was Wont To Have: You Bear Too Stubborn And Too Strange A Hand Over Your Friend That Loves You. Poor Brutus, With Himself At War, Forgets The Shows Of Love To Other Men.

You Speak Like A Green Girl / Unsifted In Such Perilous Circumstances.

Hamlet And Ophelia

You Are Not Wood, You Are Not Stones, But Men; And Being Men, Hearing The Will Of Caesar, It Will Inflame You, It Will Make You Mad.

A Ministering Angel Shall My Sister Be.

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

If It Be Honor In Your Wars To Seem The Same You Are Not,--which, For Your Best Ends, You Adopt Your Policy--how Is It Less Or Worse, That It Shall Hold Companionship In Peace With Honour, As In War: Since That To Both It Stands In Like Request?

Our Purses Shall Be Proud, Our Garments Poor; For 'tis The Mind That Makes The Body Rich

And, Looking On It With Lack-lustre Eye, Says Very Wisely, "it Is Ten O'clock: Thus We May See," Quoth He, "how The World Wags."

We Are Not Ourselves When Nature, Being Oppressed, Commands The Mind To Suffer With The Body.

Nature Does Require Her Time Of Preservation, Which Perforce, I Her Frail Son Amongst My Brethren Mortal, Must Give My Attendance To.

Two Women Placed Together Makes Cold Weather.

Are You Up To Your Destiny?

The World Must Be Peopled!

Death Is My Son-in-law, Death Is My Heir.

Men In Rage Strike Those That Wish Them Best.

Some Are Born Great, Some Achieve Greatness, And Some Have Greatness Thrust Upon Them.

O, Let My Books Be Then The Eloquence And Dumb Presages Of My Speaking Breast.

Is She Not Passing Fair?

A Wicked Conscience Mouldeth Goblins Swift As Frenzy Thoughts.

Not Stepping Over The Bounds Of Modesty.

The Love Of Wicked Men Converts To Fear; That Fear To Hate, And Hate Turns One Or Both To Worthy Danger And Deserved Death.

Memory, The Warder Of The Brain.

Away! Thou'rt Poison To My Blood.

Death, A Necessary End, Will Come When It Will Come

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.

There's Never A Villain Dwelling In All Denmark But He's An Arrant Knave.

We Bring Forth Weeds When Our Quick Minds Lie Still.

To Unpathed Waters, Undreamed Shores.

No Sooner Met But They Looked; No Sooner Looked But They Loved; No Sooner Loved But They Sighed; No Sooner Sighed But They Asked One Another The Reason; No Sooner Knew The Reason But They Sought The Remedy; And In These Degrees Have They Made A Pair Of Stairs To Marriage.

A Gentleman That Loves To Hear Himself Talk, Will Speak More In A Minute Than He Will Stand To In A Month.

Some There Be That Shadows Kiss; Such Have But A Shadow's Bliss.

The Thorny Point Of Bare Distress Hath Ta'en From Me The Show Of Smooth Civility; Yet Am I Inland Bred And Know Some Nurture.

Trust Not My Reading, Nor My Observations, Which With Experimental Seal Do Warrant The Tenor Of My Book.

When Faced With A Sea Of Troubles, Take Action, And In So Doing End It.

Look, What A Horse Should Have He Did Not Lack, Save A Proud Rider On His Back.

This Thing Of Darkness I Acknowledge Mine.

Bear With My Weakness. My Old Brain Is Troubled. Be Not Disturbed With My Infirmity.

My Thoughts Are Whirled Like A Potter's Wheel; I Know Not Where I Am Nor What I Do.

Men Shut Their Doors Against A Setting Sun.

I Have Been Studying How I May Compare This Prison Where I Live Unto The World; And, For Because The World Is Populous, And Here Is Not A Creature But Myself, I Cannot Do It. Yet I'll Hammer It Out.

What Light Through Yonder Window Breaks?

'tis Brief, My Lord...as Woman's Love.

Sweet Beatrice, Wouldst Thou Come When I Called Thee? Beatrice Yea, Signior, And Depart When You Bid Me. Benedick O, Stay But Till Then! Beatrice 'then' Is Spoken; Fare You Well Now... (much Ado About Nothing)

I Dreamt My Lady Came And Found Me Dead . . . . . . . . . . . . And Breathed Such Life With Kisses In My Lips That I Revived And Was An Emperor.

So Curses All Eve's Daughters Of What Complexion Soever.

Hadst Thou No Poison Mixed, No Sharp-ground Knife, No Sudden Mean Of Death, Though Ne'er So Mean, But 'banished' To Kill Me--'banished'? O Friar, The Damned Use That Word In Hell; Howling Attends It! How Hast Thou The Heart, Being A Divine, A Ghostly Confessor, A Sin-absolver, And My Friend Professed, To Mangle Me With That Word 'banished'?

A Man In All The World's New Fashion Planted, That Hath A Mint Of Phrases In His Brain.

Then Will I Raise Aloft The Milk-white Rose. For Whose Sweet Smell The Air Shall Be Perfumed.

The Quality Of Nothing Hath Not Such Need To Hide Itself

Since My Dear Soul Was Mistress Of Her Choice And Could Of Men Distinguish Her Election, Sh'ath Sealed Thee For Herself.

I See A Woman May Be Made A Fool, If She Had Not A Spirit To Resist.

Is This Government Of Britain's Isle, And This The Royalty Of Albion's King?

O, When She's Angry, She Is Keen And Shrewd! She Was A Vixen When She Went To School; And Though She Be But Little, She Is Fierce.

A Violet In The Youth Of Primy Nature, Forward, Not Permanent--sweet, Not Lasting; The Perfume And Suppliance Of A Minute; No More.

Hamlet And Ophelia

My Purpose Is, Indeed, A Horse Of That Color.

Silence Is The Perfectest Herald Of Joy: I Were But Little Happy, If I Could Say How Much. Lady, As You Are Mine, I Am Yours: I Give Away Myself For You And Dote Upon The Exchange.

Fire That's Closest Kept Burns Most Of All.

If You Spend Word For Word With Me, I Shall Make Your Wit Bankrupt.

A Glooming Peace This Morning With It Brings; The Sun, For Sorrow, Will Not Show His Head: Go Hence, To Have More Talk Of These Sad Things; Some Shall Be Pardon'd, And Some Punished: For Never Was A Story Of More Woe Than This Of Juliet And Her Romeo.

Romeo And Juliet Love

Out Of My Sight! Thou Dost Infect Mine Eyes.

All Men's Faces Are True, Whatsome'er Their Hands Are.

Some Men Never Seem To Grow Old. Always Active In Thought, Always Ready To Adopt New Ideas, They Are Never Chargeable With Foggyism. Satisfied, Yet Ever Dissatisfied, Settled, Yet Ever Unsettled, They Always Enjoy The Best Of What Is, Are The First To Find The Best Of What Will Be.

I Am Not Bound To Please Thee With My Answer.

O Serpent Heart Hid With A Flowering Face! Did Ever A Dragon Keep So Fair A Cave? Beautiful Tyrant, Feind Angelical, Dove Feather Raven, Wolvish-ravening Lamb! Despised Substance Of Devinest Show, Just Opposite To What Thou Justly Seemest - A Dammed Saint, An Honourable Villain!

Bad Is The Trade That Must Play Fool To Sorrow, Ang'ring Itself And Others.

Many A True Word Hath Been Spoken In Jest.

O, Train Me Not, Sweet Mermaid, With Thy Note, To Drown Me In Thy Sister’s Flood Of Tears.

Ingratitude Is Monstrous; And For The Multitude To Be Ingrateful Were To Make A Monster Of The Multitude; Of Which We Being Members, Should Bring Ourselves To Be Monstrous Members.

How Much More Doth Beauty Beauteous Seem By That Sweet Ornament Which Truth Doth Give!

O Hell! To Choose Love With Another's Eye.

This Thought Is As A Death.

My Heart Is Ever At Your Service.

Let Us, Like Merchants, Show Our Foulest Wares, And Think Perchance They'll Sell; If Not, The Lustre Of The Better Yet To Show Shall Show The Better.

Speak What We Feel, Not What We Ought To Say.

Ay Me! For Aught That Ever I Could Read, Could Ever Hear By Tale Or History, The Course Of True Love Never Did Run Smooth.

O Horror! Horror! Horror! Tongue Nor Heart Cannot Conceive Nor Name Thee!

O Heaven! That One Might Read The Book Of Fate, And See The Revolution Of The Times.

The Blood Of Youth Burns Not With Such Excess As Gravity's Revolt To Wantonness.

What, Gone Without A Word? Ay, So True Love Should Do; It Cannot Speak, For Truth Hath Better Deeds Than Words To Grace It.

I May Command Where I Adore.

I Have More Care To Stay Than Will To Go.

Into What Dangers Would You Lead Me, Cassius, That You Would Have Me Seek Into Myself For That Which Is Not In Me?

Love Is Too Young To Know What Conscience Is.

I Like This Place And Could Willingly Waste My Time In It.

Wasting My Time

Love Is A Smoke Made With The Fume Of Sighs.

Get Thee To A Nunnery.

Awake, Awake, English Nobility! Let Not Sloth Dim Your Horrors New-begot.

Where Souls Do Couch On Flowers We'll Hand In Hand.

Gives Not The Hawthorn Bush A Sweeter Shade To Shepherds, Looking On Their Silly Sheep, Than Doth A Rich Embroider'd Canopy To Kings That Fear Their Subjects Treachery?

Thou Hast Not Half That Power To Do Me Harm As I Have To Be Hurt.

The Wildest Hath Not Such A Heart As You. Run When You Will, The Story Shall Be Changed: Apollo Flies, And Daphne Holds The Chase; The Dove Pursues The Griffin; The Mild Hind Makes Speed To Catch The Tiger; Bootless Speed, When Cowardice Pursues And Valour Flies.

What Time Hath Scanted Men In Hair, He Hath Given Them In Wit.

Tell Me Where Is Fancy Bred, Or In The Heart, Or In The Head?

Love Runs Away From Those Chasing Her, And Those Who Run Away, She Throws Herself On His Neck.

Yet But Three Come One More. Two Of Both Kinds Make Up Four. Ere She Comes Curst And Sad. Cupid Is A Knavish Lad. Thus To Make Poor Females Mad.

Yet This My Comfort: When Your Words Are Done, My Woes End Likewise With The Evening Sun.

I Do I Know Not What, And Fear To Find Mine Eye Too Great A Flatterer For My Mind. Fate, Show Thy Force. Ourselves We Do Not Owe. What Is Decreed Must Be; And Be This So.

Dead Shepherd, Now I Find Thy Saw Of Might. Whoever Lov'd That Lov'd Not At First Sight.

Wish Chastely, And Love Dearly.

Soft Pity Enters An Iron Gate.

For Many Men That Stumble At The Threshold Are Well Foretold That Danger Lurks Within.

The Old Folk, Time's Doting Chronicles.

When The Mind's Free, The Body's Delicate.

Things Bad Begun Make Strong Themselves By Ill.

There Are No Tricks In Plain And Simple Faith.

Sleep, That Sometimes Shuts Up Sorrow's Eye.

Tis Time To Fear When Tyrants Seem To Kiss.

My Chastity's The Jewel Of Our House, Bequeathed Down From Many Ancestors.

Better Conquest Never Canst Thou Make Than Arm Thy Constant And Thy Nobler Parts Against Giddy, Loose Suggestions.

I Have Not Slept One Wink.

. . . Nothing In His Life Became Him Like The Leaving It; He Died As One That Had Been Studied In His Death To Throw Away The Dearest Thing He Owed, As 'twere A Careless Trifle.

You Jig, You Amble, And You Lisp.

Hamlet And Ophelia

And, If You Love Me, As I Think You Do, Let's Kiss And Part, For We Have Much To Do

Tis Beauty Truly Blent, Whose Red And White Nature's Own Sweet And Cunning Hand Laid On.

Give Me That Man That Is Not Passion's Slave, And I Will Wear Him In My Heart's Core, In My Heart Of Heart, As I Do Thee.

He Is Well Paid That Is Well Satisfied.

Say She Rail; Why, I'll Tell Her Plain She Sings As Sweetly As A Nightingale. Say That She Frown; I'll Say She Looks As Clear As Morning Roses Newly Wash'd With Dew. Say She Be Mute And Will Not Speak A Word; Then I'll Commend Her Volubility, And Say She Uttereth Piercing Eloquence.

But I Will Wear My Heart Upon My Sleeve For Daws To Peck At: I Am Not What I Am.

But Thou, Contracted To Thine Own Bright Eyes, Feed'st Thy Light's Flame With Self-substantial Fuel, Making A Famine Where Abundance Lies, Thyself Thy Foe, To Thy Sweet Self Too Cruel.

So Full Of Artless Jealousy Is Guilt, It Spills Itself In Fearing To Be Spilt.

Fat Paunches Have Lean Pates, And Dainty Bits Make Rich The Ribs, But Backrout Quite The Wits.

Ay Me! Sad Hours Seem Long.

To Gild Refined Gold, To Paint The Lily... Is Wasteful And Ridiculous Excess

Then Know, That I Have Little Wealth To Lose. A Man I Am, Crossed With Adversity; My Riches Are These Poor Habiliments, Of Which If You Should Here Disfurnish Me, You Take The Sum And Substance That I Have.

Unquiet Meals Make Ill Digestions.

Eating And Drinking

Every Subject's Duty Is The Kings, But Every Subject's Soul Is His Own.

Misery Acquaints A Man With Strange Bedfellows.

The Extreme Parts Of Time Extremely Forms All Causes To The Purpose Of His Speed.

Tis Gold Which Buys Admittance--oft It Doth--yea, And Makes Diana's Rangers False Themselves, Yield Up This Deer To Th' Stand O' Th' Stealer: And 'tis Gold Which Makes The True Man Kill'd And Saves The Thief, Nay, Sometimes Hangs Both Thief And True Man.

Waste Not Thy Time In Windy Argument But Let The Matter Drop.

I Am Giddy, Expectation Whirls Me Round. The Imaginary Relish Is So Sweet That It Enchants My Sense.

It Is My Soul That Calls Upon My Name; How Silver-sweet Sound Lovers' Tongues By Night, Like Softest Music To Attending Ears! -romeo

But It Is A Melancholy Of Mine Own, Compounded Of Many Simples, Extracted From Many Objects, And Indeed The Sundry Contemplation Of My Travels, Which, By Often Rumination, Wraps Me In The Most Humorous Sadness.

Have More Than You Show, Speak Less Than You Know.

Open Thy Gate Of Mercy, Gracious God, My Soul Flies Through These Wounds To Seek Out Thee.

Though This Be Madness, Yet There Is Method In't.

Some Rise By Sin, And Some By Virtue Fall.

Things At The Worst Will Cease Or Else Climb Upward To What They Were Before.

I Can Give The Loser Leave To Chide.

Quote: What Angel Wakes Me From My Flowery Bed?

To Be, Or Not To Be, That Is The Question.

Stars Hide Your Fires; Let Not Light See My Black And Deep Desires: The Eyes Wink At The Hand; Yet Let That Be Which The Eye Fears, When It Is Done, To See

Affliction Is Enamoured Of Thy Parts, And Thou Art Wedded To Calamity.

Fair Ladies, Masked, Are Roses In Their Bud; Dismasked, The Damask Sweet Commixture Shown, Are Angels Vailing Clouds, Or Roses Blown.

He That Wants Money, Means, And Content Is Without Three Good Friends.

You Are A Tedious Fool.

To Set A Gloss On Faint Deeds, Hollow Welcomes, Recanting Goodness, Sorry Ere 'tis Shown; But Where There Is True Friendship, There Needs None.

In Love The Heavens Themselves Do Guide The State; Money Buys Lands, And Wives Are Sold By Fate.

Men Are April When They Woo, December When They Wed. Maids Are May When They Are Maids, But The Sky Changes When They Are Wives.

To Beguile The Time, Look Like The Time. Bear Welcome In Your Eye, Your Hand, Your Tongue.

But That The Dread Of Something After Death, The Undiscover'd Country From Whose Bourn No Traveller Returns, Puzzles The Will And Makes Us Rather Bear Those Ills We Have Than Fly To Others That We Know Not Of?

The Bitter Clamor Of Two Eager Tongues.

Suspicion Shall Be All Stuck Full Of Eyes.

Sweetest Nut Hath Sourest Rind.

He Shall Spurn Fate, Scorn Death, And Bear His Hopes 'bove Wisdom, Grace And Fear: And You All Know, Security Is Mortals' Chiefest Enemy.

So Far Be Distant; And Good Night, Sweet Friend: Thy Love Ne'er Alter, Till They Sweet Life End

That Is Not The Best Sermon Which Makes The Hearers Go Away Talking To One Another And Praising The Speaker, But Which Makes Them Go Away Thoughtful And Serious, And Hastening To Be Alone.

A Grandma's Name Is Little Less In Love Than Is The Doting Title Of A Mother.

When A Man's Verses Cannot Be Understood, Nor A Man's Good Wit Seconded With The Forward Child Understanding, It Strikes A Man More Dead Than A Great Reckoning In A Little Room. Truly, I Would The Gods Had Made Thee Poetical.

Were Beauty Under Twenty Locks Kept Fast, Yet Love Breaks Through And Picks Them All At Last.

But Most It Is Presumption In Us When The Help Of Heaven We Count The Act Of Men.

Past And To Come, Seems Best; Things Present, Worse.

And Worse I May Be Yet: The Worst Is Not So Long As We Can Say 'this Is The Worst.

To Think But Nobly Of My Grandmother: Good Wombs Have Borne Bad Sons.

Iago: She That Was Ever Fair And Never Proud, Had Tongue At Will And Yet Was Never Loud, Never Lack'd Gold And Yet Went Never Gay, Fled From Her Wish And Yet Said 'now I May,' She That Being Anger'd, Her Revenge Being Nigh, Bade Her Wrong Stay And Her Displeasure Fly, She That In Wisdom Never Was So Frail To Change The Cod's Head For The Salmon's Tail; She That Could Think And Ne'er Disclose Her Mind, See Suitors Following And Not Look Behind, She Was A Wight, If Ever Such Wight Were,-- Desdemona: To Do What? Iago: To Suckle Fools And Chronicle Small Beer.

A Book? O, Rare One, Be Not, As Is Our Fangled World, A Garment Nobler Than That It Covers.

Orpheus With His Lute Made Trees, And The Mountain Tops That Freeze, Bow Themselves, When He Did Sing; To His Music, Plants And Flowers Ever Sprung; As Sun And Showers There Had Made A Lasting Spring. Every Thing That Heard Him Play, Even The Billows Of The Sea, Hung Their Heads, And Then Lay By. In Sweet Music Is Such Art, Killing Care And Grief Of Heart Fall Asleep, Or Hearing, Die.

As Full Of Spirit As The Month Of May, And As Gorgeous As The Sun In Midsummer.

But Say, My Lord, It Were Not Regist'red, Methinks The Truth Should Live From Age To Age, As 'twere Retailed To All Posterity, Even To The General All-ending Day.

O Helena, Goddess, Nymph, Perfect, Divine! To What, My Love, Shall I Compare Thine Eyne? Crystal Is Muddy. O, How Ripe In Show Thy Lips, Those Kissing Cherries, Tempting Grow!

Virtuous And Fair, Royal And Gracious.

Tis Our Fast Intent To Shake All Cares And Business From Our Age, Conferring Them On Younger Strengths, While We Unburdened Crawl Toward Death.

When Devils Will The Blackest Sins Put On They Do Suggest At First With Heavenly Shows

Men Are April When They Woo, December When They Wed.

Love Is Like A Child, That Longs For Everything It Can Come By

Let's Teach Ourselves That Honorable Stop, Not To Outsport Discretion.

This Was The Noblest Roman Of Them All. All The Conspirators, Save Only He,did That They Did In Envy Of Caesar;he Only, In A General Honest Thoughtand Common Good To All, Made One Of Them. His Life Was Gentle, And The Elementsso Mixd In Him That Nature Might Stand Upand Say To All The World, This Was A Man!

Keep Up Your Bright Swords, For The Dew Will Rust Them.

Therefore The Moon, The Governess Of Floods, Pale In Her Anger Washes All The Air, That Rheumatic Diseases Do Abound; And Through This Distemperature We See The Seasons Alter: Hoary-headed Frosts Fall In The Fresh Lap Of The Crimson Rose.

Time Is The Old Justice That Examines All Such Offenders, And Let Time Try.

You Common Cry Of Curs! Whose Breath I Hate As Reek O' The Rotten Fens, Whose Loves I Prize As The Dead Carcasses Of Unburied Men That Do Corrupt My Air, I Banish You; And Here Remain With Your Uncertainty!

O Villains, Vipers, Dogs, Easily Won To Fawn On Any Man!

Had I No Eyes But Ears, My Ears Would Love. That Inward Beauty And Invisible; Or Were I Deaf, Thy Outward Parts Would Move Each Part In Me That Were But Sensible: Though Neither Eyes Nor Ears, To Hear Nor See, Yet Should I Be In Love By Touching Thee. 'say, That The Sense Of Feeling Were Bereft Me, And That I Could Not See, Nor Hear, Nor Touch, And Nothing But The Very Smell Were Left Me, Yet Would My Love To Thee Be Still As Much; For From The Stillitory Of Thy Face Excelling Comes Breath Perfum'd That Breedeth Love By Smelling.

Thou Shalt Be Free As Mountain Winds: But Then Exactly Do All Points Of My Command.

I Hold It Cowardice To Rest Mistrustful Where A Noble Heart Hath Pawned An Open Hand In Sign Of Love.

Some Say That Ever 'gainst The Season Comes Wherein Our Saviour's Birth Is Celebrated, The Bird Of Dawning Singeth All Night Long: And Then, They Say, No Spirit Can Walk Abroad; The Nights Are Wholesome; Then No Planets Strike, No Fairy Takes, Nor Wi

Thy Best Of Rest Is Sleep, And That Thou Oft Provok'st; Yet Grossly Fear'st Thy Death, Which Is No More.

You See Me Here, You Gods, A Poor Old Man, As Full Of Grief As Age; Wretched In Both.

Grace Me No Grace, Nor Uncle Me No Uncle.

Alas, That Love, Whose View Is Muffled Still, Should Without Eyes See Pathways To His Will!

The Love Of Heaven Makes One Heavenly.

That You Were Once Unkind Befriends Me Now, And For That Sorrow, Which I Then Did Feel, Needs Must I Under My Transgression Bow, Unless My Nerves Were Brass Or Hammered Steel.

She Speaks Poniards, And Every Word Stabs.

My Rage Is Gone, And I Am Struck With Sorrow. Take Him Up. Help, Three O' Th' Chiefest Soldiers; I'll Be One. Beat Thou The Drum, That It Speaks Mournfully, Trail Your Steel Spikes. Though In This City He Hath Widowed And Unchilded Many A One, Which To This Hour Bewail The Injury, Yet He Shall Have A Noble Memory. Assist.

Dost Thou Think, Because Thou Art Virtuous, There Shall Be No More Cakes And Ale?

It Was Always Yet The Trick Of Our English Nation, If They Have A Good Thing, To Make It Too Common.

Corruption Wins Not More Than Honesty.

Eternity Was In Our Lips And Eyes, Bliss In Our Brows' Bent; None Our Parts So Poor But Was A Race Of Heaven.

Is Man No More Than This? Consider Him Well. Thou Ow'st The Worm No Silk, The Beast No Hide, The Sheep No Wool, The Cat No Perfume. Here's Three On's Are Sophisticated. Thou Art The Thing Itself; Unaccommodated Man Is No More Than Such A Poor, Bare, Forked Animal As Thou Art.

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