Every Offense Is Not A Hate At

If Money Go Before, All Ways Do Lie Open.

Come Away, Come Away, Death, And In Sad Cypres Let Me Be Laid; Fly Away, Fly Away, Breath; I Am Slain By A Fair Cruel Maid.

Within The Hollow Crown That Rounds The Mortal Temples Of A King Keeps Death His Court.

Heaven Is Above All Yet; There Sits A Judge, That No King Can Corrupt.

Their Savage Eyes Turned To A Modest Gaze By The Sweet Power Of Music.