Critics! Those Cut-throat Bandits In The Paths

My Love Is Like A Red, Red Rose That's Newly Sprung In June: My Love Is Like The Melody That's Sweetly Played In Tune. How Fair Art Thou, My Bonnie Lass, So Deep In Love Am I; And I Will Love Thee Still, My Dear, Till All The Seas Gang Dry. Till All The Seas Gang Dry, My Dear, And The Rocks Melt With The Sun; I Will Love Thee Still, My Dear, While The Sands Of Life Shall Run. And Fare Thee Weel, My Only Love. And Fare Thee Weel Awhile! And I Will Come Again, My Love, Though It Were Ten Thousand Mile.

Apropos, Is Not The Scotch Phrase 'auld Lang Syne' Exceedingly Expressive? I Shall Give You The Verses On The Other Sheet. The Words Of 'auld Lang Syne' Are Good, But The Music Is An Old Air, The Rudiments Of The Modern Tune Of That Name. ... Dare To Be Honest And Fear No Labor. ... Opera Is Where A Man Gets Stabbed In The Back, And Instead Of Dying, He Sings. ... Chords That Vibrate Sweetest Pleasure Thrill The Deepest Notes Of Woe. ... Critics! Those Cut-throat Bandits In The Paths Of Fame.

But Pleasures Are Like Poppies Spread, You Seize The Flower, It's Bloom Is Shed; Or, Like The Snow-fall In The River, A Moment White, Then Melts Forever.

Here's To Us, Who's Like Us Damn Few, And They're All Dead.

The Best Laid Schemes O' Mice An' Men Gang Aft Agley.