Homily

If thine eye offend thee, pluck it

If your tired unspeaking

Rivet the dark with linear sight,

Crazed by a warlock with his

Dreamed up in some loquacious bed,

And if the stage-dark head

The fifth act of the closing night,

Why, cut it off, piece after piece,

And throw the tough cortex away,

And when you've marvelled on the

That wove their interior smoke its way,

Tear out the close vermiculate

Where death crawled angrily at bay.