He Who Has Injured Thee Was Either

Give Me My Robe, Put On My Crown; I Have Immortal Longings In Me.

And The More Pity That Great Folk Should Have Count'nance In This World To Drown Or Hang Themselves More Than Their Even-christen.

Fill All Thy Bones With Aches.

Let's Go Hand In Hand, Not One Before Another.

I Would Fain Die A Dry Death.