The Will Of Man Is By His

Nothing Can Come Of Nothing.

Oh Why Rebuke You Him That Loves You So? / Lay Breath So Bitter On Your Bitter Foe.

Because It Is A Customary Cross, As Die To Love As Thoughts, And Dreams, And Sighs, Wishes, And Tears, Poor Fancy's Followers.

For Oaths Are Straws, Men's Faiths Are Wafer-cakes, And Hold-fast Is The Only Dog.

A Sad Tale's Best For Winter. I Have One Of Sprites And Goblins.