Death Rock Me Asleep.

All Men's Faces Are True, Whatsome'er Their Hands Are.

Then Happy I That Love And Am Beloved, Where I May Not Remove Nor Be Removed.

Pain Pays The Income Of Each Precious Thing.

She Speaks Poniards, And Every Word Stabs.

There's Rosemary And Rue. These Keep Seeming And Savor All The Winter Long. Grace And Remembrance Be To You.