Soft Pity Enters An Iron Gate.

Experience Teacheth Us That Resolution 's A Sole Help At Need: And This, My Lord, Our Honour Teacheth Us, That We Be Bold In Every Enterprise: Then Since There Is No Way, But Fight Or Die, Be Resolute, My Lord, For Victory.

Make Me A Willow Cabin At Your Gate, And Call Upon My Soul Within The House; Write Loyal Cantons Of Contemned Love And Sing Them Loud Even In The Dead Of Night.

Give Thy Thoughts No Tongue.

The Sense Of Death Is Most In Apprehension, And The Poor Beetle, That We Tread Upon, In Corporal Sufferance Finds A Pang As Great As When A Giant Dies.

Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind, Thou Art Not So Unkind As Mans Ingratitude Thy Tooth Is Not So Keen, Because Thou Art Not Seen, Although Thy Breath Be Rude. Heigh-ho Sing, Heigh-ho Unto The Green Holly Most Friendship Is Feigning, Most Loving Mere Folly. Then Heigh-ho The Holly This Life Is Most Jolly. Freeze, Freeze, Thou Bitter Sky, That Dost Not Bite So Nigh As Benefits Forgot Though Thou The Waters Warp, Thy Sting Is Not So Sharp As Friend Rememberd Not.