We Go To Gain A Little Patch

If You Can Look Into The Seeds Of Time, And Say Which Grain Will Grow And Which Will Not, Speak Then Unto Me.

He That Is Strucken Blind Can Not Forget The Precious Treasure Of His Eyesight Lost.

For Death Remembered Should Be Like A Mirror, Who Tells Us Life’s But Breath, To Trust It Error.

Out, You Tallow-face! You Baggage!

Nay, Had I Pow'r, I Should Pour The Sweet Milk Of Concord Into Hell, Uproar The Universal Peace, Confound All Unity On Earth.