GIVE me my scallop-shell of quiet,
My staff of faith to walk upon,
My scrip of joy, immortal diet,
My bottle of salvation,
My gown of glory, hope's true gage;
And thus I'll take my pilgrimage.
Blood must be my body's balmer;
No other balm will there be given:
Be aware of When and Where and Why these words were written.
Put yourself in the place of this Mighty figure fallen then from Grace,
Should be so badly treated, but then his Poetic Seeds so planted then,
should be going on Forever.