What Else May Hap, To

If All The Year Were Playing Holidays; To Sport Would Be As Tedious As To Work.

The Prize Of All Too Precious You.

I Would That I Were Low Laid In My Grave. I Am Not Worth This Coil That's Made For Me.

With Mirth And Laughter Let Old Wrinkles Come.

Love's Gentle Spring Doth Always Fresh Remain.