Though She Be But Little, She Is

I Had Rather Eleven Died Nobly For Their Country Than One Voluptuously Surfeit Out Of Action.

The Thorny Point Of Bare Distress Hath Ta'en From Me The Show Of Smooth Civility; Yet Am I Inland Bred And Know Some Nurture.

A Breath Thou Art, Servile To All The Skyey Influences.

So Shaken As We Are, So Wan With Care, Find We A Time For Frighted Peace To Pant And Breathe Short-winded Accents Of New Broils To Be Commenced In Stronds Afar Remote.

Nor Stony Tower, Nor Walls Of Beaten Brass, Nor Airless Dungeon, Nor Strong Links Of Iron, Can Be Retentive To The Strength Of Spirit; But Life, Being Weary Of These Worldly Bars, Never Lacks Power To Dismiss Itself.