Nor From Hell One Step No More

Hence, Loathèd Melancholy, Of Cerberus And Blackest Midnight Born, In Stygian Cave Forlorn, 'mongst Horrid Shapes, And Shrieks, And Sights Unholy.

But O Yet More Miserable! Myself My Sepulchre, A Moving Grave.

He Who Freely Magnifies What Hath Been Nobly Done, And Fears Not To Declares As Freely What Might Be Done Better, Gives Ye The Best Covenant Of His Fidelity.

Apt Words Have Power To Suage The Tumors Of A Troubled Mind.

O When Meet Now Such Pairs, In Love And Mutual Honour Joined?