Why wouldst thou rude on me they wring-world right foot rock?

“No, I'll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee”

“But ah, but O thou terrible, why wouldst thou rude on me Thy wring-earth right …”

“And for all this, nature is never spent; There lives the dearest freshness deep…”

“What I do is me, for that I came.”