Tis Not A Year Or

We May Outrun By Violent Swiftness And Lose By Over-running.

For We, Which Now Behold These Present Days, Have Eyes To Wonder, But Lack Tongues To Praise.

Foul Fiend Of France And Hag Of All Despite, Encompassed With Thy Lustful Paramours, Becomes It Thee To Taunt His Valiant Age And Twit With Cowardice A Man Half Dead?

Where Love Is Great, The Littlest Doubts Are Fear; Where Little Fears Grow Great, Great Love Grows There.

Care Keeps His Watch In Every Old Man’s Eye, And Where Care Lodges, Sleep Will Never Lie.