Downy Sleep, Death's Counterfeit.

Past All Shame, So Past All Truth.

You Common Cry Of Curs! Whose Breath I Hate As Reek O' The Rotten Fens, Whose Loves I Prize As The Dead Carcasses Of Unburied Men That Do Corrupt My Air, I Banish You; And Here Remain With Your Uncertainty!

Is She Kind As She Is Fair?

So Shalt Thou Feed On Death, That Feeds On Men.

... By Indirections Find Directions Out.