Yon Grey Lines That Fret The Clouds

I'll Fight, Till From My Bones My Flesh Be Hacked.

Though Authority Be A Stubborn Bear, Yet He Is Oft Let By The Nose With Gold.

You See Me Here, You Gods, A Poor Old Man, As Full Of Grief As Age; Wretched In Both.

Sweets With Sweets War Not, Joy Delights In Joy.

Now Would I Give A Thousand Furlongs Of Sea For An Acre Of Barren Ground.