Soft Pity Enters An Iron Gate.

The Bitter Clamor Of Two Eager Tongues.

I Count Myself In Nothing Else So Happy As In A Soul Remembering My Good Friends

Set Your Heart At Rest. The Fairyland Buys Not The Child Of Me.

Were't Not For Laughing, I Should Pity Him.

Make The Upcoming Hour Overflow With Joy, And Let Pleasure Drown The Brim.