When Faced With A Sea Of Troubles,

What Have We Here? A Man Or A Fish? Dead Or Alive? A Fish: He Smells Like A Fish; A Very Ancient And Fishlike Smell; A Kind Of Not Of The Newest Poor-john. A Strange Fish!

O, Let My Books Be Then The Eloquence And Dumb Presages Of My Speaking Breast.

They Say Miracles Are Past.

Direct Not Him Whose Way Himself Will Choose; 'tis Breath Not Lack'st, And That Breath Wilt Thou Lose.

Thus With A Kiss I Die