Taste Your Legs, Sire: Put

Oft Have I Heard That Grief Softens The Mind And Makes It Fearful And Degenerate.

The Sweets We Wish For, Turn To Loathed Sours, Even In The Moment That We Call Them Ours.

Sweetest Nut Hath Sourest Rind.

As Full Of Spirit As The Month Of May, And As Gorgeous As The Sun In Midsummer.

Wish Chastely, And Love Dearly.