I Have Good Reason To Be Content,

She Hurried At His Words, Beset With Fears, For There Were Sleeping Dragons All Around.

But Were There Ever Any Writhed Not At Passed Joy?

Where Are The Songs Of Spring? Aye, Where Are They? Think Not Of Them; Thou Has Thy Music Too.

Give Me Women, Wine And Snuff Until I Cry Out 'hold, Enough!' You May Do So San Objection Till The Day Of Resurrection; For Bless My Beard Then Aye Shall Be My Beloved Trinity.

Call The World If You Please "the Vale Of Soul-making." Then You Will Find Out The Use Of The World.