By Their Own Follies They

Accept These Grateful Tears...for Thee They Flow, For Thee... That Ever Felt Another's Woe.

She Spoke And Loosened From Her Bosom The Embroidered Girdle Of Many Colors Into Which All Her Allurements Were Fashioned. In It Was Love And Int Desire Which Steals The Mind Even Of The Wise.

Rather I'd Choose Laboriously To Bear A Weight Of Woes, And Breathe The Vital Air, A Slave To Some Poor Hind That Toils For Bread, Than Reign The Sceptred Monarch Of The Dead.

It Is Always The Latest Song That An Audience Applauds The Most.

First You Don't Want Me To Get The Pony, Then You Want Me To Take It Back. Make Up Your Mind!