What Is Aught But As 'tis Valued?

Will All Great Neptune's Ocean Wash This Blood Clean From My Hand? No, This My Hand Will Rather The Multitudinous Seas Incarnadine, Making The Green One Red.

Direct Not Him Whose Way Himself Will Choose; 'tis Breath Not Lack'st, And That Breath Wilt Thou Lose.

The Painful Warrior Famous For Fight, After A Thousand Victories, Once Foil'd, Is From The Books Of Honor Razed Quite, And All The Rest Forgot For Which He Toil'd

Grace And Remembrance Be To You Both.

What Power Is It Which Mounts My Love So High, That Makes Me See, And Cannot Feed Mine Eye