Love Is . . . A Madness

They Say Miracles Are Past.

Sweet Flowers Are Slow And Weeds Make Haste.

The Why Is Plain As Way To Parish Church: He That A Fool Doth Very Wisely Hit Doth Very Foolishly, Although He Smart, Not To Seem Senseless Of The Bob; If Not, The Wise Man's Folly Is Anatomiz'd Even By The Squand'ring Glances Of The Fool.

His Life Was Gentle; And The Elements So Mixed In Him, That Nature Might Stand Up And Say To All The World, This Was A Man!

Time And The Hour Run Through The Roughest Day.