Fight Thou With Shafts Of Silver, And

He Who Has Suffered Shipwreck, Fears To Sail Upon The Seas, Though With A Gentle Gale.

Bid Me Despair, And I'll Despair,under That Cypress Tree;or Bid Me Die, And I Will Daree'en Death, To Die For Thee.

Feed Him Ye Must, Whose Food Fills You. And That This Pleasure Is Like Raine, Not Sent Ye For To Drowne Your Paine, But For To Make It Spring Againe.

O Thou, The Drink Of Gods And Angels! Wine

Seldom Comes Glory Till A Man Be Dead.