I Swear Again, I Would Not Be

Bow, Stubborn Knees, And, Heart With Strings Of Steel, Be Soft As Sinews Of The New-born Babe. All Many Be Well.

He Is Dead And Gone, Lady, He Is Dead And Gone; At His Head A Grass-green Turf, At His Heels A Stone.

What Drink'st Thou Oft, Instead Of Homage Sweet, But Poisoned Flattery?

But Whate'er I Am, Nor I Nor Any Man That But Man Is, With Nothing Shall Be Pleased 'til He Be Eased With Being Nothing.

So, You Are Very Welcome To Our House. It Must Appear In Other Ways Than Words, Therefore, I Scant This Breathing Courtesy.