A Sympathy In Choice.

O, Here Will I Set Up My Everlasting Rest, And Shake The Yoke Of Inauspicious Stars From This World-wearied Flesh. Eyes, Look Your Last! Arms, Take Your Last Embrace! And, Lips, O You The Doors Of Breath, Seal With A Righteous Kiss A Dateless Bargain To Engrossing Death!

There Is Not One Wise Man In Twenty That Will Praise Himself.

Mine Eyes Are Full Of Tears, My Heart Of Grief.

Adieu, Adieu, Adieu! Remember Me.

They Have Been At A Great Feast Of Languages, And Stolen The Scraps.