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Fool! I mean not
That poor-souled piece of heroism, self-slaughter;
Oh no! the miserablest day we live
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Fool! I mean not
That poor-souled piece of heroism, self-slaughter;
Oh no! the miserablest day we live
There's many a better thing to do than die!
Against self-slaughter
There is a prohibition so divine
That cravens my weak hand.
Against self-slaughter
There is a prohibition so divine
That cravens my weak hand.
Britannia's shame! There took her gloomy flight,
On wing impetuous, a black sullen soul . . .
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Britannia's shame! There took her gloomy flight,
On wing impetuous, a black sullen soul . . .
Less base the fear of death than fear of life.
O Britain! infamous for suicide.
The beasts (Conservatives) had committed suicide to save
themselves from slaughter.
The beasts (Conservatives) had committed suicide to save
themselves from slaughter.
While foulest fiends shun thy society.
While foulest fiends shun thy society.
But if there be an hereafter,
And that there is, conscience, uninfluenc'd
And suffer'd to speak out, read more
But if there be an hereafter,
And that there is, conscience, uninfluenc'd
And suffer'd to speak out, tells every man,
Then must it be an awful thing to die;
More horrid yet to die by one's own hand.
Ah, yes, the sea is still and deep,
All things within its bosom sleep!
A single step, read more
Ah, yes, the sea is still and deep,
All things within its bosom sleep!
A single step, and all is o'er,
A plunge, a bubble, and no more.
There is no refuge from confession but suicide; and suicide is
confession.
There is no refuge from confession but suicide; and suicide is
confession.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely
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For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th' unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin?