noble quality, Upon your honoured brow to heap; The lion's magnanimity,
The fleetness of the hind, The fiery blood of Italy, The Northern's steadfast
mind. Let him to you the mystery show To blend high aims and cunning low;
And while youth's passions are aflame To fall in love by rule and plan! I fain
would meet with such a man; Would him Sir Microcosmus name.
What then am I, if I aspire in vain The crown of our humanity to gain,
Towards which my every sense doth strain?
Thou'rt after all - just what thou art. Put on thy head a wig with countless