Prepare For Mirth, For Mirth Becomes A

My Business Was Great, And In Such A Case As Mine A Man May Strain Courtesy.

Graze On My Lips; And If Those Hills Be Dry, Stray Lower, Where The Pleasant Fountains Lie.

Moderate Lamentation Is The Right Of The Dead, Excessive Grief The Enemy To The Living.

Because It Is A Customary Cross, As Die To Love As Thoughts, And Dreams, And Sighs, Wishes, And Tears, Poor Fancy's Followers.

Let Me Confess That We Two Must Be Twain, Although Our Undivided Loves Are One.