Rich Gifts Wax Poor When Givers Prove

For I Can Raise No Money By Vile Means. By Heaven, I Had Rather Coin My Heart, And Drop My Blood For Drachmas

You're In Love? Out Out Of Love? I Love Someone. She Doesn't Love Me.

Cold Indeed, And Labor Lost: Then Farewell Heat, And Welcome Frost!

Or Art Thou But / A Dagger Of The Mind, A False Creation, / Proceeding From The Heat-oppressed Brain?

Ay, But To Die And Go We Know Not Where; To Lie In Cold Obstrution And To Rot; This Sensible Warm Motion To Become A Kneaded Clod; And The Delighted Spirit To Bathe In Fiery Floods Or To Reside In Thrilling Regions Of Thick-ribbed Ice; To Be Imprison'd In The Viewless Winds, And Blown With Restless Violence Round About The Pendant World.