Kind Pity Chokes My Spleen.

And Now Good Morrow To Our Waking Souls, Which Watch Not One Another Out Of Fear; For Love, All Love Of Other Sights Controls, And Makes One Little Room, An Everywhere. Let Sea-discoverers To New Worlds Have Gone, Let Maps To Other, Worlds On Worlds Have Shown, Let Us Possess One World, Each Hath One, And Is One.

Keep Us, Lord, So Awake In The Duties Of Our Calling That We May Sleep In Thy Peace And Wake In Thy Glory.

And What Is So Intricate, So Entangling As Death? Who Ever Got Out Of A Winding Sheet?

If I Lose At Play, I Blaspheme; If My Fellow Loses, He Blasphemes. So, God Is Always The Loser.

If I Dream I Have You, I Have You, For All Our Joys Are But Fantastical.