What The Vengeance, Could He Not Speak

Now My Charms Are All O'erthrown.

Trifles Light As Air Are To The Jealous Confirmations Strong As Proofs Of Holy Writ.

And So, From Hour To Hour, We Ripe And Ripe. And Then, From Hour To Hour, We Rot And Rot; And Thereby Hangs A Tale.

For Many Men That Stumble At The Threshold Are Well Foretold That Danger Lurks Within.

What Power Is It Which Mounts My Love So High, That Makes Me See, And Cannot Feed Mine Eye