But Thought's The Slave Of Life, And

Love's Fire Heats Water, Water Cools Not Love.

There's Not A Note Of Mine That's Worth The Noting.

And Either Victory, Or Else A Grave.

Slander, Whose Whisper Over The World's Diameter, As Level As The Cannon To Its Blank, Transports Its Poisoned Shot.

From This Time Forth My Thoughts Be Bloody, Or Be Nothing Worth!