The Soul Of This Man Is His

There Is A Kind Of Character In Thy Life, That To The Observer Doth Thy History, Fully Unfold.

The Apparel Oft Proclaims The Man.

My Rage Is Gone, And I Am Struck With Sorrow. Take Him Up. Help, Three O' Th' Chiefest Soldiers; I'll Be One. Beat Thou The Drum, That It Speaks Mournfully, Trail Your Steel Spikes. Though In This City He Hath Widowed And Unchilded Many A One, Which To This Hour Bewail The Injury, Yet He Shall Have A Noble Memory. Assist.

For There's No Motion That Tends To Vice In Man, But I Affirm It Is The Woman's Part.

Rebellion In This Land Shall Lose His Sway, Meeting The Check Of Such Another Day.