Page:The heptalogia, or, The seven against sense - a cap with seven bells (IA heptalogiaorseve00swin).pdf/39

 I reject this for one! (ay, now, straight to the hole! Safe in sand there—your skirts smooth out all as they float!) I, shirk drinking through flaws in the bowl?

Or suppose now that rock's cleft—grim, scored to the quick, As a man's face kept fighting all life through gets scored, Mossed and marked with grey purulent leprosies, sick, Flat and foul as man's life here (be swift with your sword— Cut the soul out, stuck fast where thorns prick!)