Evermore Thanks, The Exchequer Of The Poor

The Will Of Man Is By His Reason Sway'd.

Spirits Are Not Finely Touched But To Fine Issues.

The Cat Will Mew, And Dog Will Have His Day.

The Brain May Devise Laws For The Blood, But A Hot Temper Leaps O'er A Cold Decree.

All Things That We Ordained Festival Turn From Their Office To Black Funeral-- Our Instruments To Melancholy Bells, Our Wedding Cheer To A Sad Burial Feast; Our Solemn Hymns To Sullen Dirges Change; Our Bridal Flowers Serve For A Buried Corse; And All Things Change Them To The Contrary.