And Blind Oblivion Swallowed Cities Up.

Desperate Times Breed Desperate Measures

So Loving To My Mother, That He Might Not Beteem The Winds Of Heaven, Visit Her Face' Too Roughly.

Things Base And Vile, Holding No Quantity, Love Can Transpose To Form And Dignity

Golden Lads And Girls All Must As Chimney Sweepers Come To Dust.

Fill All Thy Bones With Aches.