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. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WAKING YEAR by EMILY DICKINSON CRITICS AND CONNOISSEURS by MARIANNE MOORE THE QUEEN IN FRANCE; AN ANCIENT SCOTTISH BALLAD by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN RESIGNATION by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE ABSENT YET PRESENT by EDWARD GEORGE EARLE LYTTON BULWER-LYTTON |