XLV. [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.

Published in A Shropshire Lad

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