Fairies Use Flowers For Their

God Mark Thee To His Grace! Thou Was The Prettiest Babe That E'er I Nursed. And Might I Live To See Thee Married Once, I Have My Wish.

Doubting Things Go Ill Often Hurts More Than To Be Sure They Do; For Certainties Either Are Past Remedies, Or, Timely Knowing, The Remedy Then Born.

I Will Instruct My Sorrows To Be Proud; For Grief Is Proud, And Makes His Owner Stoop.

Death Where Is Thy Sting? Love, Where Is Thy Glory?

Taste Your Legs, Sire: Put Them Into Motion.