It is the disease of not listening...... that I am troubled with.
Heaven give you many, many merry days.
Lay aside life-harming heaviness, And entertain a cheerful disposition.
Daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty.
Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.
Pray you now, forget and forgive.
Reputation is an idle and most false imposition; oft got without merit, and lost without deserving.
Presume not that I am the thing I was.
And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.
Sweet are the uses of adversity
or simply:
