Ay, But To Die, And Go We

The Weakest Goes To The Wall.

I Can Express No Kinder Sign Of Love, Than This Kind Kiss.

The Man That Hath No Music In Himself

But Love That Comes Too Late, Like A Remorseful Pardon Slowly Carried, To The Great Sender Turns A Sour Offense, Crying, 'that's Good That's Gone.

A Knot You Are Of Damned Bloodsuckers.