Good God, The Souls Of All My

I Fill Up A Place, Which May Be Better... When I Have Made It Empty.

Mirth Cannot Move A Soul In Agony.

Short Time Seems Long In Sorrow's Sharp Sustaining.

There Is No Terror, Cassius, In Your Threats, For I Am Armed So Strong In Honesty That They Pass By Me As The Idle Wind

The Smallest Worm Will Turn Being Trodden On, And Doves Will Peck In Safeguard Of Their Brood.