The Neck On Which Diamonds

For Dhrames Always Go By Conthraries, My Dear.

Sure My Love Is All Crostlike A Bud In The Frostand There's No Use At All In My Going To Bed,for 't Is Dhrames And Not Slape That Comes Into My Head!

Circumstances Are The Rulers Of The Weak; They Are But The Instruments Of The Wise.

I'll Seek A Four Leaved Shamrock In All Thy Fairy Dells, And If I Find The Charmed Leaves, Oh, How I'll Weave My Spells!

There Was A Place In Childhood That I Remember Well, And There A Voice Of Sweetest Tone Bright Fairy Tales Did Tell.