Let Me, If Not By

My Joy Is Death- Death, At Whose Name I Oft Have Been Afeard, Because I Wish'd This World's Eternity.

When Heaven Doth Weep, Doth Not The Earth O'erflow? If The Winds Rage, Doth Not The Sea Wax Mad, Threatening The Welkin With His Big-swollen Face?

Merciful Heaven, Thou Rather With Thy Sharp And Sulphurous Bolt Splits The Unwedgeable And Gnarled Oak Than The Soft Myrtle; But Man, Proud Man, Dressed In A Little Brief Authority, Most Ignorant Of What He's Most Assured His Glassy Essence--like An Angry Ape Plays Such Fantastic Tricks Before High Heaven As Makes The Angels Weep; Who, With Our Spleens, Would All Themselves Laugh Mortal.

This Is The Very Coinage Of Your Brain: This Bodiless Creation Ecstasy.

What Else May Hap, To Time I Will Commit.