Nothing Can Seem Foul To Those Who

. . From This Moment The Very Firstlings Of My Heart Shall Be The Firstlings Of My Hand. And Even Now, To Crown My Thoughts With Acts, Be It Thought And Done.

Who Wooed In Haste, And Means To Wed At Leisure.

Golden Lads And Girls All Must As Chimney Sweepers Come To Dust.

The Quality Of Nothing Hath Not Such Need To Hide Itself

Merrily, Merrily Shall I Live Now, Under The Blossom That Hangs On The Bough.