Tis True, 'tis Certain; Man, Though Dead,

Now Warm In Love, Now With'ring In My Bloom Lost In A Convent's Solitary Gloom!

Yes, I Am Proud; I Must Be Proud To See Men Not Afraid Of God, Afraid Of Me.

I Am His Highness' Dog At Kew; Pray Tell Me, Sir, Whose Dog Are You?

Placed On This Isthmus Of A Middle State, A Being Darkly Wise And Rudely Great... He Hangs Between; In Doubt To Act Or Rest; In Doubt To Deem Himself A God, Or Beast; In Doubt His Mind Or Body To Prefer; Born To Die, And Reasoning But To Err.

Sure Of Their Qualities And Demanding Praise, More Go To Ruined Fortunes Than Are Raised.