Whereto Serves Mercy But To Confront The

Virtue Is Beauty, But The Beauteous Evil. Are Empty Trunks O'erflourished By The Devil.

What Freezings I Have Felt, What Dark Days Seen, What Old December's Bareness Everywhere!

The Sudden Hand Of Death Close Up Mine Eye!

The Language I Have Learnt These Forty Years, My Native English, Now I Must Forgo; And Now My Tongue's Use Is To Me No More Than An Unstringed Viol Or A Harp, Or Like A Cunning Instrument Cased Up Or, Being Open, Put Into His Hands That Knows No Touch To Tune The Harmony.

Corruption Wins Not More Than Honesty. Still In Thy Right Hand Carry Gentle Peace, To Silence Envious Tongues.