No Mighty Trance, Or Breathed

Let Us Seek Death, Or He Not Found, Supply With Our Own Hands His Office On Ourselves; Why Stand We Longer Shivering Under Fears, That Show No End But Death, And Have The Power, Of Many Ways To Die The Shortest Choosing, Destruction With Destruction To Destroy.

Among Unequals What Society Can Sort, What Harmony, Or True Delight?

Hail Holy Light, Offspring Of Heav'n Firstborn!

Accuse Not Nature: She Hath Done Her Part; Do Thou But Thine.

Which, If Not Victory, Is Yet Revenge.