Which Way I Fly Is Hell; Myself

Some Say No Evil Thing That Walks By Night, In Fog Or Fire, By Lake Or Moorish Fen, Blue Meagre Hag, Or Stubborn Unlaid Ghost That Breaks His Magic Chains At Curfew Time, No Goblin, Or Swart Fairy Of The Mine, Hath Hurtful Power O'er True Virginity.

Nothing Is Here For Tears, Nothing To Wail Or Knock The Breast, No Weakness, No Contempt, Dispraise, Or Blame,-nothing But Well And Fair, And What May Quiet Us In A Death So Noble.

Spirits When They Please Can Either Sex Assume, Or Both.

Moping Melancholy And Moon-struck Madness.

And, Re-assembling Our Afflicted Powers, Consult How We May Henceforth Most Offend.