With purpose cruel,
Arising from his bed, at day's first light,
To do ill.
True to the moments, see his seconds first,
Who for your heart's best blood already thirst,
Like murd'rous Thugs;
With you yourself—pale as a taper's light—
"Creeping, like snail, unwillingly" to fight
With slugs!
Think of the morning fog, by whose assistance