The Past Is Prologue.

How Now, Wit! Whither Wander You?

And Will He Not Come Again? And Will He Not Come Again? No, No, He Is Dead. Go To Thy Deathbed. He Never Will Come Again.

You Speak Like A Green Girl / Unsifted In Such Perilous Circumstances.

But Like Of Each Thing That In Season Grows.

Tis In Ourselves That We Are Thus, Or Thus.