The Insolence Of Office.

The Sense Of Death Is Most In Apprehension.

'tis The Soldier's Life To Have Their Balmy Slumbers Waked With Strife.

Your Hearts Are Mighty, Your Skins Are Whole.

Love, Whose Month Is Ever May, Spied A Blossom Passing Fair, Playing In The Wanton Air: Through The Velvet Leaves The Wind, All Unseen Can Passage Find; That The Lover, Sick To Death, Wish'd Himself The Heaven's Breath.

These Cardinals Trifle With Me; I Abhor; This Dilatory Sloth And Tricks Of Rome.