O, she misused me past the endurance of a block.
O England! Model to thy inward greatness, like little body with a might heart.
This thing of darkness I Acknowledge mine.
There's small choice in rotten apples.
That you were once unkind befriends me now, And for that sorrow, which I then did feel, Needs must I under my transgression bow, Unless my nerves were brass or hammered steel.
Bounty, being free itself, thinks all others so.