One Enemy Is Too Much.

Sweet Rose, Whose Hue, Angry And Brave, Bids The Rash Gazer Wipe His Eye, Thy Root Is Even In The Grave, And Thou Must Die.

He That Gives Me Small Gifts Would Have Me Live.

Gold Opens All Locks, No Lock Will Hold Against The Power Of Gold.

I Escaped The Thunder, And Fell Into The Lightning.

Call Me Not An Olive, Till Thou See Me Gathered.