High Air-castles are cunningly built of Words, the Words well bedded also in good Logic-mortar; wherein, however, no Knowledge will come to lodge.
O, it is monstrous, monstrous! Methought the billows spoke, and told me of it; The winds did sing it to me; and the thunder, That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounc'd The name of Prospero; it did bass my trespass. Therefore my son i' the ooze is bedded; and, I'll seek him deeper than e'er plummet sounded, And with him there lie mudded.
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