Nothing Can Come Of Nothing.

My Charity Is Outrage, Life My Shame; And In That Shame Still Live My Sorrow's Rage!

Now The Time Is Come, That France Must Veil Her Lofty-plumed Crest, And Let Her Head Fall Into England's Lap.

I'll Never Be Such A Gosling To Obey Instinct, But Stand As Is A Man Were Author Of Himself And Knew No Other Kin.

When Daffodils Begin To Peer, With Heigh! The Doxy, Over The Dale, Why, Then Comes In The Sweet O' The Year; For The Red Blood Reigns In The Winter's Pale. The White Sheet Bleaching On The Hedge, With Heigh! The Sweet Birds, O, How They Sing! Doth Set My Pugging Tooth On Edge; For A Quart Of Ale Is A Dish For A King.

It Is To Be All Made Of Fantasy, All Made Of Passion And All Made Of Wishes, All Adoration, Duty, And Observance, All Humbleness, All Patience And Impatience, All Purity, All Trial, All Observance