I Don't Know How Much Longer I

It Is Wrong To Sorrow Without Ceasing.

My Hour At Last Has Come; Yet Not Ingloriously Or Passively I Die, But First Will Do Some Valiant Deed, Of Which Mankind Shall Hear In After Time.

Two Urns On Jove's High Throne Have Ever Stood, The Source Of Evil One, And One Of Good; From Thence The Cup Of Mortal Man He Fills, Blessings To These, To Those Distributes Ills; To Most He Mingles Both.

And Here I Am Using My Own Lungs Like A Sucker.

Behold, On Wrong Swift Vengeance Waits; And Art Subdues The Strong.