Ring The Alarum-bell! Blow, Wind! Come, Wrack!

O, Pardon Me, Thou Bleeding Piece Of Earth, / That I Am Meek And Gentle With These Butchers!

Love Adds A Precious Seeing To The Eye.

The Poet's Eye, In A Fine Frenzy Rolling, Doth Glance From Heaven To Earth, From Earth To Heaven; And As Imagination Bodies Forth The Forms Of Things Unknown, The Poet's Pen Turns Them To Shape, And Gives To Airy Nothing A Local Habitation And A Name; Such Tricks Hath Strong Imagination.

'sblood, You Starveling, You Elf-skin, You Dried Neat's Tongue, You Bull's Pizzle, You Stock-fish! O For Breath To Utter What Is Like Thee! You Tailor's-yard, You Sheath, You Bowcase; You Vile Standing-tuck!

So, Good Night Unto You All. Give Me Your Hands, If We Be Friends, And Robin Shall Restore Amends.