These Blessed Candles Of The Night.

What, Gone Without A Word? Ay, So True Love Should Do; It Cannot Speak, For Truth Hath Better Deeds Than Words To Grace It.

'twas Merry When You Wagered On Your Angling, When Your Diver Did Hang A Salt Fish On His Hook, Which He With Fervency Drew Up.

So We'll Live, And Pray, And Sing, And Tell Old Tales, And Laugh At Gilded Butterflies.

If Men Could Be Contented To Be What They Are, There Were No Fear In Marriage.

Words Are Grown So False, I Am Loath To Prove Reason With Them.