There lived a singer in France of old By the tideless dolorous midland sea. In a land of sand and rain and gold There shone one woman, and none but she.

Today will die tomorrow.

Wherever there is a grain of loyalty there is a glimpse of freedom.

Despair the twin-born of devotion.

There is no God found stronger than death; and death is a sleep.

Is not Precedent indeed a King of men? A Word from the Psalmist.

If you were Queen of pleasure And I were King of pain We'd hunt down Love together, Pluck out his flying-feather, And teach his feet a measure, And find his mouth a rein; If you were Queen of pleasure And I were King of pain.