Virtue Hath No Tongue To

When A King Sets Himself To Bandy Against The Highest Court And Residence Of All Regal Powers, He Then, In The Single Person Of A Man, Fights Against His Own Majesty And Kingship.

So May'st Thou Live, Till Like Ripe Fruit Thou Drop Into Thy Mother's Lap.

On The Morning Of Christ's Nativity Perhaps Their Loves, Or Else Their Sheep, Was All That Did Their Silly Thoughts So Busy Keep.

They Are The Troublers, They Are The Dividers Of Unity, Who Neglect And Don't Permit Others To Unite Those Dissevered Pieces Which Are Yet Wanting To The Body Of Truth.

Untwisting All The Chains That Tie The Hidden Soul Of Harmony.