Are There No Stones In Heaven But

Here's Flowers For You; Hot Lavender, Mints, Savoury, Marjoram; The Marigold, That Goes To Bed Wi' The Sun And With Him Rises Weeping: These Are Flowers Of Middle Summer, And I Think They Are Given To Men Of Middle Age.

I Thought My Heart Had Been Wounded With The Claws Of A Lion.

And Oftentimes Excusing Of A Fault Doth Make The Fault The Worse By The Excuse.

Be Merry; You Have Cause, So Have We All, Of Joy; For Our Escape Is Much Beyond Our Loss . . . . Then Wisely Weigh Our Sorrow With Our Comfort.

For A Noble Heart, The Most Precious Gift Becomes Poor, When The Giver Stops Loving.