There Is A Method In Man's Wickedness;

Daisies Smell-less, Yet Most Quaint, And Sweet Thyme True, Primrose, First Born Child Of Ver, Merry Spring-time's Harbinger.

Grace Comes Often Clad In The Dusky Robe Of Desolation.

But What Is Past My Help Is Past My Care.

Let Us Have A Care Not To Disclose Our Hearts To Those Who Shut Up Theirs Against Us.

Let No Man Fear To Die, We Love To Sleep All, And Death Is But The Sounder Sleep.