None Can Cure Their Harms By Wailing

Before The Curing Of A Strong Disease, Even In The Instant Of Repair And Health, The Fit Is Strongest. Evils That Take Leave, On Their Departure Most Of All Show Evil.

O That My Tongue Were In The Thunder's Mouth! Then With Passion Would I Shake The World, And Rouse From Sleep That Fell Anatomy Which Cannot Hear A Lady's Feeble Voice, Which Scorns A Modern Invocation.

I'll Make Death Love Me; For I Will Contend Even With His Pestilent Scythe.

Or Art Thou But / A Dagger Of The Mind, A False Creation, / Proceeding From The Heat-oppressed Brain?

I Am Joined With No Foot Land-rakers, No Long-staff, Sixpenny Strikers, None Of These Mad, Mustachio Purple-hued Maltworms, But With Nobility And Tranquillity.