There Is A Fullness Of All Things,

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

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

Ah, Beer, My One Weakness. My Achille's Heel, If You Will.

If You Are Very Valiant, It Is A God, I Think, Who Gave You This Gift.

A Small Rock Holds Back A Great Wave.