Like valor's minor carved out his passage/Till he faced the slave; Which ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him..and fixed his head upon our battlements
O gentle lady, 'Tis not for you to hear what I can speak/The repetition, in a woman's ear, would murder as it fell.
Prithee, see there! Behold! Look! Lo! How say you?/Why, what care I? If thou canst nod/ speak too./If charnel houses and our graves/ must send/Those that we bury back, our monumentsShall be the maws of kites.
Howe'er you come to know it—answer me.Though you untie the winds and let them fight/Against the churches, though the yeasty waves/Confound and swallow navigation up
My way of lifeIs fall'n into the sere, the yellow leaf/ And that which should accompany old age,/As honor, love, obedience, troops of friends,/ I must not look to have, but, in their stead, Curses.
Me making this project while I'm in bed during this quarantine :/