At Christmas, I No More Desire A

You Are Not Worth The Dust Which The Rude Wind Blows In Your Face.

A Wicked Conscience Mouldeth Goblins Swift As Frenzy Thoughts.

The Devil Hath Power To Assume A Pleasing Shape.

Never Shame To Hear What You Have Nobly Done

O, I Do Not Like That Paying Back, 'tis A Double Labor.