My Life Is More To Me Than

The Melancholy Joys Of Evils Pass'd, For He Who Much Has Suffer'd, Much Will Know.

Our Fruitless Labours Mourn, And Only Rich In Barren Fame Return.

If Not Yet Lost To All The Sense Of Shame.

I Discovered A Meal Between Breakfast And Brunch.

...if Fifty Bands Of Men Surrounded Us/ And Every Sword Sang For Your Blood,/ You Could Make Off Still With Their Cows And Sheep.