There Might Be Some Credit In Being

Ask No Questions, And You'll Be Told No Lies.

And When It Has Got In; As One Not Finding What It Seeks, Whatever That May Be, It Wails And Howls To Issue Forth Again: And Not Content With Stalking Through The Aisles, And Gliding Round And Round The Pillars, And Tempting The Deep Organ, Soars Up To The Roof, And Strives To Rend The Rafters: Then Flings Itself Despairingly Upon The Stones Below, And Passes, Muttering, Into The Vaults.

'tis Love That Makes The World Go Round, My Baby.

Joe Gave Me Some More Gravy.

Stranger, Pause And Ask Thyself The Question, Canst Thou Do Likewise? If Not, With A Blush Retire.