On glassed futurity; nay, death itself,
His fate unquestioned, his foretasted pain,
The certainty foreknown of things unknown,
Cannot discourage his habitual being 1016
In its appointed motions, to make waver
His eager hand, nor loosen the desire
Of the most feeble melancholy heart
Even from the unhopefullest of all her dreams.
In. Since then I long to know, now something say
Of what will come to mine when I am gone.