Thy Food Is Such As Hath Been

Old Fashions Please Me Best; I Am Not So Nice To Change True Rules For Odd Inventions.

If They Love They Know Not Why, They Hate Upon No Better Ground, They Hate Upon No Better A Ground

So May I, Blind Fortune Leading Me, Miss That Which One Unworthier May Attain, And Die With Grieving.

I Pardon Him, As God Shall Pardon Me.

Hung Be The Heavens With Black! Yield, Day, To Night!