The Bitter Past, More Welcome Is The

Death Where Is Thy Sting? Love, Where Is Thy Glory?

O Heresy In Fair, Fit For These Days, A Giving Hand, Though Foul, Shall Have Fair Praise.

A Table Full Of Welcome Makes Scarce One Dainty Dish.

Our Fancies Are More Giddy And Unfirm, More Longing, Wavering, Sooner Lost And Won, Than Women's Are.

Oft Expectation Fails, And Most Oft There Where Most It Promises; And Oft It Hits Where Hope Is Coldest, And Despair Most Fits.