Hear My Soul Speak. Of The Very

Winter's Not Gone Yet, If The Wild Geese Fly That Way.

Milk-livered Man, That Bear'st A Cheek For Blows, A Head For Wrongs; Who Hast Not In Thy Brows An Eye Discerning Thine Honor From Thy Suffering; [that Not Know'st Fools Do Those Villains Pity Who Are Punished Ere They Have Done Their Mischief. Where's Thy Drum? France Spreads His Banners In Our Noiseless Land, With Plumed Helm Thy State Begins To Threat, Whilst Thou, A Moral Fool, Sits Still And Cries 'alack, Why Does He So?']

Smooth Runs The Water Where The Brook Is Deep.

Venus Smiles Not In A House Of Tears.

Where Shall We Three Meet Again In Thunder, Lightning, Or In Rain? When The Hurlyburly 's Done, When The Battle 's Lost And Won