So Curses All Eve's Daughters Of What

Thus Die I, Thus, Thus, Thus. Now Am I Dead, Now Am I Fled; My Soul Is In The Sky: Tongue, Lose Thy Light; Moon Take Thy Flight. Now Die, Die, Die, Die, Die.

Sweet Mercy Is Nobility's True Badge.

For Now I Stand As One Upon A Rock Environed With A Wilderness Of Sea, Who Marks The Waxing Tide Grow Wave By Wave, Expecting Ever When Some Envious Surge Will In His Brinish Bowels Swallow Him.

This Sanguine Coward, This Bed-presser, This Horseback-breaker, This Huge Hill Of Flesh!

Let Me Say Amen Betimes Lest The Devil Cross My Prayer, For Here He Comes In The Likeness Of A Jew.