Oh, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio,
And taste with a distempered appetite! Shakspeare.
Il doutait de tout, même de l'amour.--French Novel.
Solvitur ambulando. Solutio Sophismatum.
Flevit amores
Non elaboratum ad pedem.--Horace.
Over the great windy waters, and over the clear crested summits,
Unto the sun and the sky, and unto the perfecter earth,
Come, let us go,--to a land wherein gods of the old time wandered,
Where every breath even now changes to ether divine.
Come, let us go; though withal a voice whisper, "The world that we
live in,
Whithersoever we turn, still is the same narrow crib;
'Tis but to prove limitation, and measure a cord, that we travel;
Let who would 'scape and be free go to his chamber and think;
'Tis but to change idle fancies for memories wilfully falser;
'Tis but to go and have been."--Come, little bark, let us go!