A Shropshire Lad - XLV

    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.