If People Knew How Much I Hated

My Cousin's A Fool, And Thou Art Another.

Merrily, Merrily Shall I Live Now, Under The Blossom That Hangs On The Bough.

The More Pity, That Fools May Not Speak Wisely What Wise Men Do Foolishly.

Slander, Whose Whisper Over The World's Diameter, As Level As The Cannon To Its Blank, Transports Its Poisoned Shot.

Men So Noble, However Faulty, Yet Should Find Respect For What They Have Been: 'tis A Cruelty To Load A Falling Man.