Sycorax Has Grown Into A Hoop

Yet This My Comfort: When Your Words Are Done, My Woes End Likewise With The Evening Sun.

Or Are You Like The Painting Of A Sorrow, A Face Without A Heart?

All The Perfumes Of Arabia Will Not Sweeten This Little Hand! Oh, Oh, Oh!

Woe, Destruction, Ruin, And Decay; The Worst Is Death And Death Will Have His Day.

There Is A History In All Men's Lives.