I Am Now Of All Humors That

To Go To Bed After Midnight Is To Go To Bed Betimes

From Camp To Camp, Through The Foul Womb Of Night, The Hum Of Either Army Stilly Sounds, That The Fixed Sentinels Almost Receive The Secret Whispers Of Each Other's Watch. Fire Answers Fire, And Through Their Play Flames Each Battle Sees The Other's Umbered Face. Steed Threatens Steed, In High And Boastful Neighs Piercing The Night's Dull Ear; And From The Tents The Armorers Accomplishing The Knights, With Busy Hammers Closing Rivets Up, Give Dreadful Note Of Preparation.

Bondage Is Hoarse, And May Not Speak Aloud.

Free From Gross Passion Or Of Mirth Or Anger

I Have More Care To Stay Than Will To Go.