My Desolation Does Begin To

But To My Mind, Though I Am Native Here, And To The Manner Born, It Is A Custom, More Honored In The Breach Than The Observance.

Heaven Give You Many, Many Merry Days.

Who Finds The Heifer Dead And Bleeding Fresh And Sees Fast-by A Butcher With An Axe, But Will Suspect 'twas He That Made The Slaughter?

If The Boy Have Not A Woman's Gift To Rain A Shower Of Commanded Tears, An Onion Will Do Well For Such A Shift.

When You Do Dance, I Wish You A Wave O' The Sea, That You Might Ever Do Nothing But That.