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LX



Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,

So do our minutes hasten to their end;

Each changing place with that which goes before,

In sequent toil all forwards do contend.

Nativity, once in the main of light,

Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown\'d,

Crooked eclipses \'gainst his glory fight,

And Time that gave doth now his gift confound.

Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth

And delves the parallels in beauty\'s brow,

Feeds on the rarities of nature\'s truth,

And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow:

  And yet to times in hope, my verse shall stand.

  Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.

 	--William Shakespeare

History teaches that war begins when governments believe the price of
aggression is cheap.
Ronald Reagan

LXXXIV



Who is it that says most, which can say more,

Than this rich praise,--that you alone, are you?

In whose confine immured is the store

Which should example where your equal grew.

Lean penury within that pen doth dwell

That to his subject lends not some small glory;

But he that writes of you, if he can tell

That you are you, so dignifies his story,

Let him but copy what in you is writ,

Not making worse what nature made so clear,

And such a counterpart shall fame his wit,

Making his style admired every where.

  You to your beauteous blessings add a curse,

  Being fond on praise, which makes your praises worse.

 	--William Shakespeare