So, Good Night Unto You All. Give

A Heavier Task Could Not Have Been Impos'd, Than I To Speak My Griefs Unspeakable.

Fear No More The Heat O' Th' Sun Nor The Furious Winters' Rages; Thou Thy Worldly Task Hast Done, Home Art Gone, And Ta'en Thy Wages. Golden Lads And Girls All Must, As Chimney-sweepers, Come To Dust.

Such Tricks Hath Strong Imagination, That, If It Would But Apprehend Some Joy, It Comprehends Some Bringer Of That Joy; Or In The Night, Imagining Some Fear, How Easy Is A Bush Supposed A Bear!

Misery Acquaints A Man With Strange Bedfellows.

Fill All Thy Bones With Aches.