Nor should a Sonne his Sire loue for reward, But for he is his Sire, in nature dear’d.
The computer's brain is capable of millions of calculations a second.
[…] I understand a hundred arts, and have, moreover, a sackful of cunning!
Assured henceforth, where'er I go Asearch tho' loftiest solitude, Or in the thundering Vatican, There's naught sublime but Man!
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