Poesy

If it chance your eye offend you

If it chance your eye offend you,Pluck it out, lad, and be sound:'Twill hurt, but here are salves to friend you,And many a balsam grows on ground.

And if your hand or foot offend you,Cut it off, lad, and be whole;But play the man, stand up and end you,When your sickness is your soul.

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Text from a public-domain print edition.