On Pain Of Death, No Person Be

I Will Speak Daggers To Her, But Use None.

Fear No More The Heat O' Th' Sun Nor The Furious Winters' Rages; Thou Thy Worldly Task Hast Done, Home Art Gone, And Ta'en Thy Wages. Golden Lads And Girls All Must, As Chimney-sweepers, Come To Dust.

Have Patience, And Endure

O' What May Man Within Him Hide, Though Angel On The Outward Side!

Let's All Cry Peace, Freedom, And Liberty!