So We'll Live, And Pray, And Sing,

For My Own Part, I Shall Be Glad To Learn Of Noble Men.

Now No Way Can I Stray; Save Back To England, All The World's My Way.

Thanks, Sir; All The Rest Is Mute.

Tis The Times' Plague, When Madmen Lead The Blind.

He That Will Have A Cake Out Of The Wheat Must Tarry The Grinding. Have I Not Tarried? Ay, The Grinding; But You Must Tarry The Bolting. Have I Not Tarried? Ay, The Bolting; But You Must Tarry The Leavening. Still Have I Tarried. Ay, To The Leavening; But Here's Yet In The Word 'hereafter' The Kneading, The Making Of The Cake, The Heating Of The Oven, And The Baking; Nay, You Must Stay The Cooling Too, Or You May Chance To Burn Your Lips.