Covetousness Bursts The Sack And

The Half Hour Between Waking And Rising Has All My Life Proved Propitious To Any Task Which Was Exercising My Invention... It Was Always When I First Opened My Eyes That The Desired Ideas Thronged Upon Me.

Still Are The Thoughts To Memory Dear.

Warriors! And Where Are Warriors Found, If Not On Martial Britain's Ground? And Who, When Waked With Note Of Fire, Love More Than They The British Lyre?

Thou And I Are But The Blind Instruments Of Some Irresistible Fatality, That Hurries Us Along, Like Goodly Vessels Driving Before The Storm, Which Are Dashed Against Each Other, And So Perish.

England Was Merry England, When Old Christmas Brought His Sports Again. 'twas Christmas Broach'd The Mightiest Ale; 'twas Christmas Told The Merriest Tale; A Christmas Gambol Oft Could Cheer The Poor Man's Heart Through Half The Year.