For A Quart Of Ale Is A

To Sleep Perchance To Dream

The More Pity, That Fools May Not Speak Wisely What Wise Men Do Foolishly.

Now, God Be Praised, That To Believing Souls Gives Light In Darkness, Comfort In Despair.

Thou Art Most Rich, Being Poor; Most Choice, Forsaken; And Most Lov'd, Despis'd! Thee And Thy Virtues Here I Seize Upon.

On Pain Of Death, No Person Be So Bold.