I Drink To The General Joy O’

The Moon, Like To A Silver Bow New Bent In Heaven.

To Fear The Foe, Since Fear Oppresseth Strength, Gives In Your Weakness Strength Unto Your Foe.

Ay, But Hearken, Sir; Though The Chameleon Love Can Feed On The Air, I Am One That Am Nourished By My Victuals, And Would Fain Have Meat.

Refrain To-night; And That Shall Lend A Kind Of Easiness To The Next Abstinence, The Next More Easy; For Use Almost Can Change The Stamp Of Nature, And Either Master The Devil Or Throw Him Out With Wondrous Potency.

I Speak Of Peace, While Covert Enmity Under The Smile Of Safety Wounds The World