We Spoil Ourselves With Scruples Long As

I Say You Must Not Win An Unjust Case By Oaths.

When The Black And Mortal Blood Of Man Has Fallen To The Ground ... Who Then Can Sing Spells To Call It Back Again?

We Spoil Ourselves With Scruples Long As Things Go Well.

Alas, Poor Men, Their Destiny. When All Goes Well A Shadow Will Overthrow It. If It Be Unkind One Stroke Of A Wet Sponge Wipes All The Picture Out.

For Sufferers It Is Sweet To Know Before-hand Clearly The Pain That Still Remains For Them.