If It Were Done When 'tis Done,

Speak Of Me As I Am. Nothing Extenuate, Nor Set Down Aught In Malice.

Yet This My Comfort: When Your Words Are Done, My Woes End Likewise With The Evening Sun.

I Am Thy Father's Spirit; Doom'd For A Certain Term To Walk The Night And, For The Day, Confin'd To Fast In Fires, Till The Foul Crimes, Done In My Days Of Nature, Are Burnt And Purg'd Away.

When Thou Cam'st First, Thou Strok'st Me And Made Much Of Me; Wouldst Give Me Water With Berries In't; And Teach Me How To Name The Bigger Light, And How The Less, That Burn By Day And Night; And Then I Loved Thee And Showed Thee All The Qualities O' Th' Isle, The Fresh Springs, Brine-pits, Barren Place And Fertile.

Virtue Is Chok'd With Foul Ambition