Men Are April When They Woo, December

The Purest Treasure Mortal Times Can Afford Is A Spotless Reputation.

Sometimes We Are Devils To Ourselves When We Will Tempt The Frailty Of Our Powers, Presuming On Their Changeful Potency.

My Heart Is Ever At Your Service.

The Benediction Of These Covering Heavens Fall On Their Heads Like Dew, For They Are Worthy To Inlay Heaven With Stars.

So Musical A Discord, Such Sweet Thunder.