Death, As The Psalmist Saith, Is Certain

Remember Thee! Ay, Thou Poor Ghost, While Memory Holds A Seat In This Distracted Globe.

No Villainous Bounty Yet Hath Passed My Heart; Unwisely, Not Ignobly, Have I Given.

Mine Eyes Are Full Of Tears, My Heart Of Grief.

So May The Outward Shows Be Least Themselves; The World Is Still Deceived With Ornament.

I Go, I Go, Look How I Go, Swifter Than An Arrow From A Bow