To Unpathed Waters, Undreamed Shores.

I Never See Thy Face But I Think Upon Hell-fire.

All The Contagion Of The South Light On You, You Shames Of Rome! You Herd Of--boils And Plagues Plaster You O'er; That You May Be Abhorr'd Further Than Seen, And One Infect Another Against The Wind A Mile!

Therefore, To Be Possess'd With Double Pomp, To Guard A Title That Was Rich Before, To Gild Refined Gold, To Paint The Lily, To Throw A Perfume On The Violet, To Smooth The Ice, Or Add Another Hue Unto The Rainbow, Or With Taper-light To Seek The Beauteous Eye Of Heaven To Garnish, Is Wasteful And Ridiculous Excess.

Fare Thee Well, King: Sith Thus Thou Wilt Appear, Freedom Lives Hence, And Banishment Is Here.

When Clouds Are Seen Wise Men Put On Their Cloaks; When Great Leaves Fall Then Winter Is At Hand.