Quote #1

Lo where the stage, the poor, degraded stage, Holds its warped mirror to a gaping age.

More from Charles Sprague

  1. Through life's dark road his sordid way he wends, An incarnation of fat dividends.
  2. Behold! in Liberty's unclouded blaze We lift our heads, a race of other days.
  3. Yes, social friend, I love thee well, In learned doctors' spite; Thy clouds all other clouds dispel, And lap me in delight.

All Charles Sprague quotes