Silence, Maiden; Thy Tongue Outruns

November's Sky Is Chill And Drear, November's Leaf Is Red And Sear.

Here Is Neither Want Of Appetite Nor Mouths, Pray Heaven We Be Not Scant Of Meat Or Mirth.

Saint George And The Dragon!-bonny Saint George For Merry England!-the Castle Is Won!

We Do That In Our Zeal Our Calmer Moment Would Be Afraid To Answer.

Where Lives The Man That Has Not Tried How Mirth Can Into Folly Glide, And Folly Into Sin!