If You Prick Us Do

A Pox O’ Your Throat, You Bawling, Blasphemous, Incharitable Dog!

Comfort's In Heaven, And We Are On The Earth

So Well Thy Words Become Thee As Thy Wounds.

He Was Met Even Now As Mad As The Vex'd Sea; Singing Aloud; Crown'd With Rank Fumiter And Furrow-weeds, With Bur-docks, Hemlock, Nettles, Cuckoo-flowers, Darnel, And All The Idle Weeds That Grow In Our Sustaining Corn.

The King's Name Is A Tower Of Strength.