Grace Me No Grace, Nor Uncle Me

The Gray-eyed Morn Smiles On The Frowning Night, Checkering The Eastern Clouds With Streaks Of Light.

Tis Now The Very Witching Time Of Night, When Churchyards Yawn And Hell Itself Breathes Out Contagion To This World.

It Was A Lover And His Lass, With A Hey, And A Ho, And A Hey Nonino, That O'er The Green Corn-field Did Pass, In The Spring Time, The Only Pretty Ring Time, When Birds Do Sing, Hey Ding A Ding, Ding; Sweet Lovers Love The Spring.

Time Travels In Divers Paces With Divers Persons.

Such Is My Love, To Thee I So Belong, That For Thy Right Myself Will Bear All Wrong.