Wi' his eyes like the grey o' the sea, Like the sea that brooks no voyaging With the winds unleashed and free, Like the sea he cowed at Genseret Wi' twey words spoke' suddently. They are fools eternally. I ha' seen him eat o' the honey-comb Sin' they nailed him to the tree. Therefore let us act as if we were dead already. But he dies also, presently.
Some lads get hung, and some get shot.
Woeful is this human lot. London is a woeful place, Shropshire is much pleasanter. Then let us smile a little space Upon fond nature's morbid grace. Oh, Woe, woe, woe, etcetera . . . . You have been second always.