Ignorance Is The Curse Of God; Knowledge

For Grief Is Crowned With Consolation.

For In My Youth I Never Did Apply Hot And Rebellious Liquors In My Blood.

To Be Merry Best Becomes You; For, Out Of Question, You Were Born In A Merry Hour.

Make Me A Willow Cabin At Your Gate, And Call Upon My Soul Within The House; Write Loyal Cantons Of Contemned Love And Sing Them Loud Even In The Dead Of Night.

When My Love Swears That She Is Made Of Truth, I Do Believe Her, Though I Know She Lies.