A Time, Methinks, Too Short To Make

My Grief Lies Onward, And My Joy Behind.

Men Have Died From Time To Time, And Worms Have Eaten Them, But Not For Love.

They Say, The Tongues Of Dying Men Enforce Attention, Like Deep Harmony; Where Words Are Scarce, They're Seldom Spent In Vain; For They Breathe Truth, That Breathe Their Words In Pain.

Now My Charms Are All O'erthrown.

Thou Art Sad; Get Thee A Wife, Get Thee A Wife!