I Am A Kind Of Burr; I

If There Were A Sympathy In Choice, War, Death, Or Sickness, Did Lay Siege To It, Making It Momentary As A Sound, Swift As A Shadow, Short As Any Dream, Brief As The Lightning In The Collied Night That, In A Spleen, Unfolds Both Heaven And Earth, And Ere A Man Hath Power To Say 'behold!' The Jaws Of Darkness Do Devour It Up; So Quick Bright Things Come To Confusion.

God Has Given You One Face, And You Make Yourself Another.

Thou Hast Not Half That Power To Do Me Harm As I Have To Be Hurt.

I Will Make Thee Think Thy Swan A Crow.

The Sun With One Eye Vieweth All The World.