Short Summers Lightly Have A Forward Spring.

The Gray-eyed Morn Smiles On The Frowning Night, Checkering The Eastern Clouds With Streaks Of Light.

Bad Is The Trade That Must Play Fool To Sorrow, Ang'ring Itself And Others.

He That Is Strucken Blind Can Not Forget The Precious Treasure Of His Eyesight Lost.

For In My Youth I Never Did Apply Hot And Rebellious Liquors In My Blood.

Some Grief Shows Much Of Love, But Much Of Grief Shows Still Some Want Of Wit.