Men Are April When They Woo, December

My Grief Lies Onward, And My Joy Behind.

Patch Grief With Proverbs.

Fear No More The Heat O' Th' Sun Nor The Furious Winters' Rages; Thou Thy Worldly Task Hast Done, Home Art Gone, And Ta'en Thy Wages. Golden Lads And Girls All Must, As Chimney-sweepers, Come To Dust.

Good Things Should Be Praised.

Faith, There Hath Been Many Great Men That Have Flattered The People Who Ne'er Loved Them.