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.

A.E. Housman, A Shropshire Lad
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