There Is Throats To Be Cut, And

Help, Master, Help! Here's A Fish Hangs In The Net, Like A Poor Man's Right In The Law; 'twill Hardly Come Out.

For We, Which Now Behold These Present Days, Have Eyes To Wonder, But Lack Tongues To Praise.

I Have Unclasp'd To Thee The Book Even Of My Secret Soul.

A Man May See How This World Goes With No Eyes. Look With Thine Ears: See How Yond Justice Rails Upon Yon Simple Thief. Hark, In Thine Ear: Change Places; And, Handy-dandy, Which Is The Justice, Which Is The Thief?

Oh, Injurious Love, That Respites Me A Life, Whose Very Comfort Is Still A Dying Horror