That Truth Should Be Silent

When I Said I Would Die A Bachelor, I Did Not Think I Should Live Till I Were Married.

Lawn As White As Driven Snow; Cyprus Black As E'er Was Crow; Gloves As Sweet As Damask Roses.

I Am Never Merry When I Hear Sweet Music.

When Daisies Pied And Violets Blue And Lady-smocks All Silver-white And Cuckoo-buds Of Yellow Hue Do Paint The Meadows With Delight, The Cuckoo Then, On Every Tree, Mocks Married Men; For Thus Sings He, Cuckoo; Cuckoo, Cuckoo; O, Word Of Fear, Unpleasing To A Married Ear.

Their Lips Were Four Red Roses On A Stalk.