I Pardon Him, As God Shall Pardon

For You And I Are Past Our Dancing Days.

And All This Day An Unaccustomed Spirit Lifts Me Above The Ground With Cheerful Thoughts.

I, Measuring His Affections By My Own, Which Then Most Sought Where Most Might Not Be Found, Being One Too Many By My Weary Self, Pursued My Humor Not Pursuing His, And Gladly Shunned Who Gladly Fled From Me.

I Am Joined With No Foot Land-rakers, No Long-staff, Sixpenny Strikers, None Of These Mad, Mustachio Purple-hued Maltworms, But With Nobility And Tranquillity.

Sleep Knits Up The Raveled Sleeve Of Care.