None Can Cure Their Harms By Wailing

I Am A Feather For Each Wind That Blows

Methinks A Father Is At The Nuptial Of His Son A Guest That Best Becomes The Table.

This World To Me Is Like A Lasting Storm,whirring Me From My Friends.

Though Patience Be A Tired Mare, Yet She Will Plod.

A Little More Than Kin, And Less Than Kind.