Ring the alarum-bell! Blow, wind! come, wrack! At least we'll die with harness on our back.

a wild dedication of yourselves To undiscovered waters, undreamed shores.

She will die if you love her not, And she will die ere she might make her love known

Well, honor is the subject of my story.

O polished perturbation! golden care! That keep'st the ports of slumber open wide To many a watchful night.

This feather stirs; she lives! if it be so, it is a chance which does redeem all sorrows that ever I have felt.

In time the savage bull doth bear the yoke.