We Must Not Be Content To Be

Our Acts Our Angels Are, For Good Or Ill, Our Fatal Shadows That Walk By Us Still.

He Who Goes To Bed, And Goes To Bed Sober, Falls As The Leaves Do, And Dies In October; But He Who Goes To Bed, And Goes To Bed Mellow, Lives As He Ought To Do, And Dies An Honest Fellow.

Then, Everlasting Love , Restrain Thy Will; 'tis God -like To Have Power, But Not To Kill.

Wine Works The Heart Up, Wakes The Wit; There Is No Cure 'gainst Age But It. And 'tis Late And Cold, Stir Up The Fire; Sit Close And Draw The Table Nigher; Be Merry And Drink Wine That Is Old, A Hearty Medicine 'gainst The Cold.

Tyranny Is Yielding To The Lust Of The Governing.