A Light Wife Doth Make A Heavy

Golden Lads And Girls All Must As Chimney Sweepers Come To Dust.

Beauty Is But A Vain And Doubtful Good; A Shining Gloss That Fadeth Suddenly; A Flower That Dies When It Begins To Bud; A Doubtful Good, A Gloss, A Glass, A Flower, Lost, Faded, Broken, Dead Within An Hour.

My Stars Shine Darkly Over Me

My Father's Wit, And My Mother's Tongue, Assist Me!

Not Proud You Have, But Thankful That You Have. Proud Can I Never Be Of What I Hate, But Thankful Even For Hate That Is Meant Love.