I Feel It Gone, Yet Know Not

The Thing Of Courage As Rous'd With Rage Doth Sympathise, And, With An Accent Tun'd In Self-same Key, Retorts To Chiding Fortune.

Where Civil Blood Makes Civil Hands Unclean

A Turn Or Two I'll Walk To Still My Beating Mind.

We Are Not The First Who With Best Meaning Have Incurred The Worst

I Must Be Gone And Live, Or Stay And Die.