Six days he does no work, and The seventh takes for rest. - Victor Daley

Long ago I did discover It was fine to be a lover,
But the heartache and the worry spoil the game: Now I think, like an old vandal, That the game's not worth the candle—
And I know some other vandals think the same.

A Book of Sermons underneath the Bough,
A Bag of Buns, some ginger-ale, and Thou Preaching beside me in the wilderness —
The wilderness were Paradise enow!

If beings of Mythology Could live at my commands I'd choose to be, Who had a hundred hands:
And every hand of mine
Would hold a pint of wine.