Come, Sing Now, Sing; For I Know

Drink Today, And Drown All Sorrow; You Shall Perhaps Not Do Tomorrow.

Man Is His Own Star, And The Soul That Can Render An Honest And A Perfect Man, Commands All Light.

The Coward's Weapon, Poison.

Joys As Winged Dreams Fly Fast, / Why Should Sadness Longer Last? / Grief Is But A Wound To Woe; / Gentlest Fair, Mourn, Mourn No Moe.

Hence, All You Vain Delights, As Short As Are The Nights Wherein You Spend Your Folly! There's Naught In This Life Sweet But Only Melancholy; O Sweetest Melancholy!