O Call Not Me To Justify The

When Devils Will The Blackest Sins Put On They Do Suggest At First With Heavenly Shows

O, But They Say, The Tongues Of Dying Men Enforce Attention, Like Deep Harmony: Where Words Are Scarce, They Are Seldom Spent In Vain: For They Breathe Truth, That Breathe Their Words In Pain. He, That No More Must Say, Is Listened More Than They Whom Youth And Ease Have Taught To Gloze; More Are Men's Ends Marked, Than Their Lives Before: The Setting Sun, And Music At The Close, As The Last Taste Of Sweets, Is Sweetest Last; Writ In Rememberance More Than Things Long Past

Time ... Thou Ceaseless Lackey To Eternity.

Have You Not Heard It Said Full Oft, A Woman's Nay Doth Stand For Naught?

Farewell! God Knows When We Shall Meet Again.