For Oaths Are Straws, Men's Faiths Are

Write Till Your Ink Be Dry, And With Your Tears Moist It Again, And Frame Some Feeling Line That May Discover Such Integrity.

But There Is No Such Man; For, Brother, Men Can Counsel And Speak Comfort To That Grief Which They Themselves Not Feel; But, Tasting It, Their Counsel Turns To Passion, Which Before Would Give Preceptial Medicine To Rage, Fetter Strong Madness In A Silken Thread, Charm Ache With Air And Agony With Words.

Be Just, And Fear Not. Let All The Ends Thou Aim'st At Be Thy Country's, Thy God's And Truth's.

O, Speak Again, Bright Angel! For Thou Art As Glorious To This Night, Being O'er My Head As Is A Winged Messenger Of Heaven

But Yet I'll Make Assurance Double Sure, And Take A Bond Of Fate: Thou Shalt Not Live.