The Bitter Past, More Welcome Is The

He Hath A Heart As Sound As A Bell, And His Tongue Is The Clapper; For What His Heart Thinks His Tongue Speaks.

Here Comes A Man Of Comfort, Whose Advice Hath Often Stilled My Brawling Discontent.

The Barge She Sat In, Like A Burnish'd Throne, Burnt On The Water.

Now Would I Give A Thousand Furlongs Of Sea For An Acre Of Barren Ground.

My Hands Are Of Your Color, But I Shame To Wear A Heart So White.