War Is No Strife To The Dark

Your Tale, Sir, Would Cure Deafness.

You Know That I Do Fawn On Men, And Hug Them Hard, And After Scandal Them.

Haply For I Am Black, And Have Not Those Soft Parts Of Conversation That Chamberers Have; Or For I Am Declined Into The Vale Of Years—yet That’s Not Much— She’s Gone. I Am Abused, And My Relief Must Be To Loathe Her. O Curse Of Marriage, That We Can Call These Delicate Creatures Ours And Not Their Appetites! I Had Rather Be A Toad And Live Upon The Vapor Of A Dungeon Than Keep A Corner In The Thing I Love For Others’ Uses. Yet ’tis The Plague Of Great Ones; Prerogatived Are They Less Than The Base. ’tis Destiny Unshunnable, Like Death.

For He Was Likely, Had He Been Put On, To Have Proved Most Royally.

For Precious Friends Hid In Death's Dateless Night.