A Stirring Dwarf We Do Allowance Give

Scarce Can I Speak, My Choler Is So Great. Oh! I Could Hew Up Rocks, And Fight With Flint.

O! Let Me Not Be Mad, Not Mad, Sweet Heaven; Keep Me In Temper; I Would Not Be Mad!

So Loving To My Mother, That He Might Not Beteem The Winds Of Heaven, Visit Her Face' Too Roughly.

I'll Take Thy Word For Faith, Not Ask Thine Oath; Who Shuns Not To Break One Will Sure Crack Both.

The Instruments Of Darkness Tell Us Truths.