Give Me That Man That Is Not

Every Fair From Fair Sometime Declines

The Third Day Comes A Frost, A Killing Frost.

Wise Men Never Sit And Wail Their Loss, But Cheerily Seek How To Redress Their Harms.

In Nature There's No Blemish But The Mind. None Can Be Called Deformed But The Unkind.

Music Can Minister To Minds Diseased, Pluck From The Memory A Rooted Sorrow, Raze Out The Written Troubles Of The Brain, And With Its Sweet Oblivious Antidote, Cleanse The Full Bosom Of All Perilous Stuff That Weighs Upon The Heart.