You Blocks, You Stones, You

O Wretched State! O Bosom Black As Death!

Out Of My Sight! Thou Dost Infect Mine Eyes.

Things Won Are Done, Joy's Soul Lies In The Doing.

Rebellion In This Land Shall Lose His Sway, Meeting The Check Of Such Another Day.

Away, You Cut-purse Rascal! You Filthy Bung, Away! By This Wine, I'll Thrust My Knife In Your Mouldy Chaps, An You Play The Saucy Cuttle With Me. Away, You Bottle-ale Rascal! You Basket-hilt Stale Juggler, You!