I Was A Coward On Instinct.

And Thou, All-shaking Thunder, Strike Flat The Thick Rotundity O' The World! Crack Nature's Moulds, All Germens Spill At Once That Makes Ingrateful Man!

If Thou Engrossest All The Griefs Are Thine, Thou Robb'st Me Of A Moiety.

Many A Man's Tongue Shakes Out His Master's Undoing.

Tis An Ill Cook That Cannot Lick His Own Fingers.

Shorten My Days Thou Canst With Sullen Sorrow, And Pluck Nights From Me, But Not Lend A Morrow; Thou Canst Help Time To Furrow Me With Age, But Stop No Wrinkle In His Pilgrimage.