For What I Will, I Will, And

Ay, But To Die And Go We Know Not Where; To Lie In Cold Obstrution And To Rot; This Sensible Warm Motion To Become A Kneaded Clod; And The Delighted Spirit To Bathe In Fiery Floods Or To Reside In Thrilling Regions Of Thick-ribbed Ice; To Be Imprison'd In The Viewless Winds, And Blown With Restless Violence Round About The Pendant World.

I Have Seen The Day Of Wrong Through The Little Hole Of Discretion, And I Will Right Myself Like A Soldier.

It Is Not Night When I Do See Your Face.

We Came Into The World Like Brother And Brother, And Now Let's Go Hand In Hand, Not One Before Another.

O Sir, You Are Old; Nature In You Stands On The Very Verge Of Her Confine; You Should Be Ruled And Led By Some Discretion, That Discerns Your Fate Better Than You Yourself.