What Need A Man Forestall His Date

Fame Is The Spur That The Clear Spirit Doth Raise

Which, If Not Victory, Is Yet Revenge.

Or Bid The Soul Of Orpheus Sing Such Notes As, Warbled To The String, Drew Iron Tears Down Pluto's Cheek.

Should God Create Another Eve, And I Another Rib Afford, Yet Loss Of Thee Would Never From My Heart; No No, I Feel The Link Of Nature Draw Me: Flesh Of Flesh, Bone Of My Bone Thou Art, And From Thy State Mine Never Shall Be Parted, Bliss Or Woe.

The Love-lorn Nightingale Nightly To Thee Her Sad Song Mourneth Well.