Love Will Not Be Spurred To What

There Is Throats To Be Cut, And Works To Be Done.

By My Soul I Swear, There Is No Power In The Tongue Of Man To Alter Me.

I Hope To See London Once Ere I Die.

So Are You To My Thoughts As Food To Life, Or As Sweet Seasoned Showers Are To The Ground.

The Gloomy Shade Of Death.