The Very Best Of Vineyards Is The

Oh, Talk Not To Me Of A Name Great In Story; The Days Of Our Youth Are The Days Of Our Glory; And The Myrtle And Ivy Of Sweet Two-and-twenty Are Worth All Your Laurels, Though Ever So Plenty.

And If I Laugh At Any Mortal Thing, 'tis That I May Not Weep.

Physicians Mend Or End Us, Secundum Artem; But Although We Sneer - In Health - When Ill We Call Them To Attend Us, Without The Least Propensity To Jeer

Self-love For Ever Creeps Out, Like A Snake, To Sting Anything Which Happens To Stumble Upon It.

Absence - That Common Cure Of Love.