The Poorest Service Is Repaid With Thanks.

There Was A Star Danced, And Under That Was I Born.

My Soul Is In The Sky.

Foul Cankering Rust The Hidden Treasure Frets, But Gold That's Put To Use More Gold Begets.

I Am One, My Liege, Whom The Vile Blows And Buffets Of The World Have So Incensed That I Am Reckless What I Do To Spite The World.

Sleep Knits Up The Raveled Sleeve Of Care.