Let The Sap Of Reason Quench The

I Cannot Speak Your England.

The Purest Treasure Mortal Times Can Afford Is A Spotless Reputation.

They Say Miracles Are Past.

I Am Not Bound To Please Thee With My Answer.

Hot Lavender, Mints, Savory, Marjoram; The Marigold, That Goes To Bed Wi' The Sun, And With Him Rise Weeping.