We Go To Gain A

I See That The Fashion Wears Out More Apparel Than The Man.

The Fortune Of Us That Are The Moon's Men Doth Ebb And Flow Like The Sea, Being Governed, As The Sea Is, By The Moon.

You Are Not Wood, You Are Not Stones, But Men.

But Earthlier Happy Is The Rose Distill'd Than That Which Withering On The Virgin Thorn Grows, Lives, And Dies In Single Blessedness.

They Are In The Very Wrath Of Love, And They Will Go Together. Clubs Cannot Part Them