My Mother Groaned, My Father Wept, Into

He Who Has Suffered You To Impose On Him Knows You.

I Love Hanging And Drawing And Quartering Every Bit As Well As War And Slaughtering.

But If At Church They Would Give Some Ale. And A Pleasant Fire Our Souls To Regale. We'd Sing And We'd Pray All The Live Long Day, Nor Ever Once From The Church To Stray.

Let Every Christian, As Much As In Him Lies, Engage Himself Openly And Publicly, Before All The World, In Some Mental Pursuit For The Building Up Of Jerusalem.

The Crow Wished Everything Was Black, The Owl, That Everything Was White.