Tis A Cruelty To Load

O For A Horse With Wings!

'tis Best To Weigh The Enemy More Mighty Than He Seems.

I Am Declined Into The Vale Of Years.

Ay, But To Die And Go We Know Not Where; To Lie In Cold Obstrution And To Rot; This Sensible Warm Motion To Become A Kneaded Clod; And The Delighted Spirit To Bathe In Fiery Floods Or To Reside In Thrilling Regions Of Thick-ribbed Ice; To Be Imprison'd In The Viewless Winds, And Blown With Restless Violence Round About The Pendant World.

Lay On, Mcduff, And Be Damned He Who First Cries, 'hold, Enough!