SHAKESPEARE
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thers abide our question. Thou art free.We ask and ask--Thou smilest and art still,Out-topping knowledge. For the loftiest hill,Who to the stars uncrowns his majesty, Planting his steadfast footsteps in the sea,Making the heaven of heavens his dwelling-place,Spares but the cloudy border of his baseTo the foil'd searching of mortality; And thou, who didst the stars and sunbeams know,Self-school'd, self-scann'd, self-honour'd, self-secure,Didst tread on earth unguess'd at.--Better so! All pains the immortal spirit must endure,All weakness which impairs, all griefs which bow,Find their sole speech in that victorious brow.
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