On A Huge Hill, Cragged, And Steep,

Nothing But Man Of All Envenomed Things, Doth Work Upon Itself, With Inborn Stings.

One Short Sleep Past, We Wake Eternally, And Death Shall Be No More; Death, Thou Shalt Die.

But Think That We Are But Turned Aside To Sleep.

That Subtle Knot Which Makes Us Man So Must Pure Lovers Souls Descend T Affections, And To Faculties, Which Sense May Reach And Apprehend, Else A Great Prince In Prison Lies.

A Man That Is Not Afraid Of A Lion Is Afraid Of A Cat .