Falsehood Falsehood Cures

Mechanic Slaves With Greasy Aprons, Rules, And Hammers, Shall Uplift Us To The View.

Weary With Toil, I Haste Me To My Bed The Dear Repose For Limbs With Travel Tired; But Then Begins A Journey In My Head To Work My Mind, When Body's Work's Expir'd: For Then My Thoughts-from Far Where I Abide- Intend A Zealous Pilgrimage To Thee, And Keep My Drooping Eyelids Open Wide, Looking On Darkness Which The Blind Do See: Save That My Soul's Imaginary Sight Presents Thy Shadow To My Sightless View, Which, Like A Jewel Hung In Ghastly Night, Makes Black Night Beauteous And Her Old Face New. Lo! Thus, By Day My Limbs, By Night My Mind, For Thee, And For Myself No Quiet Find.

Some There Be That Shadows Kiss; Such Have But A Shadow's Bliss.

I Hold The World But As The World, Gratiano!

For This Relief Much Thanks. 'tis Bitter Cold, And I Am Sick At Heart.