A Heavy Heart Bears Not

These Flowers Are Like The Pleasures Of The World.

Give Thanks For What You Are Today And Go On Fighting For What You Gone Be Tomorrow

Thy Tongue Makes Welsh As Sweet As Ditties Highly Penn'd, Sung By A Fair Queen In A Summer's Bower, With Ravishing Division, To Her Lute.

Sweets Grown Common Lose Their Dear Delight.

... The Spring, The Summer, The Chilling Autumn, Angry Winter, Change Their Wonted Liveries; And The Mazed World By Their Increase, Now Knows Not Which Is Which.