Be it so. I conceived of life that way,
And still declare—life, without absolute use
Of the actual sweet therein, is death, not life.
Give me,—pay down,—not promise, which is air,—
Something that 's out of life and better still,
Make sure reward, make certain punishment,
Entice me, scare me,—I 'll forego this life;
Otherwise, no!—the less that words, mere wind,
Would cheat me of some minutes while they plague,
Balk fulness of revenge here,—blame yourselves