And As This Round (ring) Is Nowhere

Happy Is The Bride That The Sun Shines On.

When Words We Want, Love Teacheth To Indite; And What We Blush To Speak, She Bids Us Write.

Here A Little Child I Stand, Heaving Up My Either Hand; Cold As Paddocks Though They Be, Here I Lift Them Up To Thee, For A Benison To Fall On Our Meat, And On Us All. Amen.

In Ways To Greatness Think On This, That Slippery All Ambition Is

When A Daffadill I See, Hanging Down His Head Towards Me, Guess I May, What I Must Be: First, I Shall Decline My Head; Secondly, I Shall Be Dead: Lastly, Safely Buryed.