I Always Thought It Was Both Impious

And To Be Merry Best Becomes You; For, Out Of Question, You Were Born In A Merry Hour. Beatrice No, Sure, My Lord, My Mother Cried; But Then There Was A Star Danced, And Under That Was I Born.

And Since You Know You Cannot See Yourself, So Well As By Reflection, I, Your Glass, Will Modestly Discover To Yourself, That Of Yourself Which You Yet Know Not Of.

O Lord That Lends Me Life, Lend Me A Heart Replete With Thankfulness!

Sleep Knits Up The Raveled Sleeve Of Care.

Set Your Heart At Rest. The Fairyland Buys Not The Child Of Me.