If that a sinner's sighs be angels' food,
Or that repentant tears be angels' wine;
Accept, O Lord! in this most pensive mood
These hearty sighs and tears of mine:
That went with Peter forth most sinfully;
But not with Peter wept most bitterly.

If I had David's crown to me betide,
Or all his purple robes that he did wear;
I would lay then such honour all aside,
And only seek a sackcloth weed to bear:
His palace would I leave, that I might show
And mourn in cell for such offence, my woe.

O all ye nations of the Lord,
Praise ye the Lord always;
And all ye people everywhere
Set forth His noble praise.
For great His kindness is to His,
His truth endures for aye;
Wherefore praise ye the Lord our God,
Praise ye the Lord I say.

But now I have a will, yet want a wit,
To express the working of the wit and will;
Which, though their root be to the body knit
Use not the body when they use their skill.

These powers the nature of the Soul declare,
For to man's soul these only proper be;
For on the Earth no other wights there are
That have these heavenly powers, but only we.

The Wit the pupil of the Soul's clear eye,
And in man's world the only shining star,
Looks in the mirror of the Fantasy,
Where all the gatherings of the Senses are.

Oh what is Man, great Maker of mankind,
That Thou to him so great respect dost bear,
That Thou adornst him with so bright a mind,
Mak'st him a king, and even an angel's peer!

Oh what a lively life, what heavenly power,
What spreading virtue, what a sparkling fire!
How great, how plentiful, how rich a dower
Dost Thou within this dying flesh inspire!

Thou leav'st Thy print in other works of Thine,
But Thy whole image Thou in Man hast writ;
There cannot be a creature more divine
Except, like Thee, it should be infinit.

Old Rome, whose thunderbolts were hurl'd
So long across a wondering world,
Whose legions swarmed from east to west,
Whose eagles kept the storms at bay,
Now Time hath lull'd thy heart to rest,
Where is thy pride, O Rome, today? ...
Thy heart is still, Old Rome, thy pride hath pass'd away!

Mount Atlas rises as of yore;

Silent night, holy night,
All is calm, all is bright
Round yon virgin mother and child.
Holy infant, so tender and mild,
Sleep in heavenly peace.
Sleep in heavenly peace.

Silent night, holy night,
Shepherds quake at the sight,
Glories stream from heaven afar,
Heavenly hosts sing alleluia;
Christ, the Savior, is born!
Christ, the Savior, is born!

Silent night, holy night,
Son of God, love's pure light
Radiant beams from thy holy face,
With the dawn of redeeming grace,
Jesus, Lord, at thy birth.

Please to remember
The Fifth of November,
Gunpowder treason and plot;
I see no reason
Why gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot.

Search the Seas depth but not find
The hid paths in womans mind,
The obscure waies of her will,
Constant in inconstant ill;
Measure to all else is common,
There's no Labirynth but a woman.

Play was each, pleasure each,
Till Ferdiad faced the beach;
One had been our student life,
One in strife of school our place,
One our gentle teacher's grace
Loved o'er all and each.

Play was each, pleasure each,
Till Ferdiad faced the beach;
One had been our wonted ways,
One the praise for feat of fields,
Scathach gave two victor shields
Equal prize to each.

Play was each, pleasure each,
Till Ferdiad faced the beach;
Dear that pillar of pure gold
Who fell cold beside the ford.
Hosts of heroes felt his sword

Play that thing,
Jazz band!
Play it for the lords and ladies,
For the dukes and counts,
For the whores and gigolos,
For the American millionaires,
And the school teachers
Out for a spree.
Play it,
Jazz band!
You know that tune
That laughs and cries at the same time.
You know it.

May I?
Mais oui.
Mein Gott!
Parece una rumba.
Play it, jazz band!
You've got seven languages to speak in
And then some,
Even if you do come from Georgia.
Can I go home wid yuh, sweetie?