By My Soul I Swear, There Is

I Have Almost Forgotten The Taste Of Fears: The Time Has Been, My Senses Would Have Cool’d To Hear A Night-shriek; And My Fell Of Hair Would At A Dismal Treatise Rouse And Stir As Life Were In’t: I Have Supt Full With Horrors; Direness, Familiar To My Slaughterous Thoughts, Cannot Once Start Me.

The Let-alone Lies Not In Your Good Will.

I Knew When Seven Justices Could Not Take Up A Quarrel, But When The Parties Were Met Themselves, One Of Them Thought But Of An If, As, 'if You Said So, Then I Said So;' And They Shook Hands And Swore Brothers. Your If Is The Only Peacemaker; Much Virtue In If.

Where Art Thou, Muse, That Thou Forget'st So Long / To Speak Of That Which Gives Thee All Thy Might?

All Fancy-sick She Is And Pale Of Cheer, With Sighs Of Love, That Costs The Fresh Blood Dear.