Tis In Ourselves That We Are Thus,

Thy Best Of Rest Is Sleep, And That Thou Oft Provok'st; Yet Grossly Fear'st Thy Death, Which Is No More.

Oh, Injurious Love, That Respites Me A Life, Whose Very Comfort Is Still A Dying Horror

I Shall Show The Cinders Of My Spirits Through The Ashes Of My Chance.

The Day Shall Not Be Up So Soon As I, To Try The Fair Adventure Of Tomorrow.

Words Pay No Debts, Give Her Deeds.