And Flights Of Angels Sing Thee To

Unless The Old Adage Must Be Verified, That Beggars Mounted, Run Their Horse To Death.

The Heavens Forbid But That Our Loves And Comforts Should Increase Even As Our Days Do Grow!

Exit, Pursued By A Bear.

Time Goes On Crutches Till Love Have All His Rites.

So Foul And Fair A Day I Have Not Seen.