I Am Declined Into The Vale Of

Short Summers Lightly Have A Forward Spring.

O The World Is But A Word; Were It All Yours To Give It In A Breath, How Quickly Were It Gone!

What The Great Ones Do, The Less Will Prattle Of

I Will Not Trust You, I, Nor Longer Stay In Your Curst Company. Your Hands Than Mine Are Quicker For A Fray, My Legs Are Longer Though, To Run Away.

We Must Be Gentle Now We Are Gentlemen.