Up to tains, lift your hands,

    O slaves, and end w I begun!

    XXXIV.

    anshose!

    For in t

    two kinds of men in adverse rows,

    Eac

    ts body fair;

    hile hE sees gaping everywhere

    Our countless  pay no debt.

    XXXV.

    Our . Your we men

    Are, after all, not gods indeed,

    Nor able to make Cs again

    Do good h bleeding. e who bleed . . .

    (Stand off!) we  in our loss!

    e are too heavy for our cross,

    And fall and crush you and your seed.

    XXXVI.

    I fall, I s the sky:

    the clouds are breaking on my brain;

    I am floated along, as if I should die

    Of libertys exquisite pain--

    In te cing for me

    In th-dark where we may kiss and agree,

    e men, I leave you all curse-free

    In my broken s disdain!