They Told Me I Was Everything. 'tis

Sigh No More Ladies, Sigh No More, Men Were Deceivers Ever

Therefore Another Prologue Must Tell He Is Not A Lion

And Blind Oblivion Swallowed Cities Up.

Orpheus With His Lute Made Trees, And The Mountain Tops That Freeze, Bow Themselves, When He Did Sing; To His Music, Plants And Flowers Ever Sprung; As Sun And Showers There Had Made A Lasting Spring. Every Thing That Heard Him Play, Even The Billows Of The Sea, Hung Their Heads, And Then Lay By. In Sweet Music Is Such Art, Killing Care And Grief Of Heart Fall Asleep, Or Hearing, Die.

You Know That Love Will Creep In Service Where It Cannot Go.