Thou Mak'st Me Merry: I Am Full

He Was A Man, Take Him For All In All, I Shall Not Look Upon His Like Again.

Thou Weedy Elf-skinned Canker-blossom!

I Am But Mad North-north-west. When The Wind Is Southerly, I Know A Hawk From A Handsaw.

Now, God Be Praised, That To Believing Souls Gives Light In Darkness, Comfort In Despair.

Love Is Not Love Which Alters When It Alteration Finds, Or Bends With The Remover To Remove. O, No! It Is An Ever-fixed Mark, That Looks On Tempests And Is Never Shaken. It Is The Star To Every Wandering Bark, Whose Worth's Unknown, Although His Height Be Taken.