I Pardon Him, As God Shall Pardon

'tis The Soldier's Life To Have Their Balmy Slumbers Waked With Strife.

Because It Is A Customary Cross, As Die To Love As Thoughts, And Dreams, And Sighs, Wishes, And Tears, Poor Fancy's Followers.

He That Hath The Steerage Of My Course, Direct My Sail.

I'll Be Supposed Upon A Book, His Face Is The Worst Thing About Him.

Nature Hath Meal And Bran, Contempt And Grace.