It Is Not Vain Glory For A

Blow, Winds, And Crack Your Cheeks! Rage! Blow! You Cataracts And Hurricanoes, Spout Till You Have Drenched Our Teeples, Drowned The Cocks! You Sulphurour And Thought-executing Fires, Vaunt-couriers To Oak-cleaving Thunderbolts, Singe My White Head! And Thou, All-shaking Thunder, Strike Flat The Thick Rotundity O' The World! Crack Nature's Molds, All Germens Spill At Once That Make Ingrateful Man!

The Undeserver May Sleep When The Man Of Action Is Called On.

I'll Take Thy Word For Faith, Not Ask Thine Oath; Who Shuns Not To Break One Will Sure Crack Both.

For Many Men That Stumble At The Threshold Are Well Foretold That Danger Lurks Within.

For Which Of My Bad Parts Didst Thou First Fall In Love With Me?