OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Select collection No. XXVIII/The lass of Woodhouselee

The Lass of Woodhouselee.
Young Annie was the sweetest lass, That e'er pu'd slaes by Woodhouselee, ​In beauty nane can her surpass, For she is all in all to me; A gayer never graced the morn, A blyther never trode the lea, Nor one more happy ever born, Than bonnie Anne of Woodhouselee.
The lark may hail the morn wi' joy, The blackbird sing the day to rest; But Annie ever shall employ, The dear effusions of my breast. I'll deck a bower in yonder grove, And weave it off the woodbine tree, And there enjoy my Annie's love, The bonny lass of Woodhouselee.
Sweet spring may paint the flowery braes, And summer scent them with perfanne, Where Annie spends the happy days, Among the bowers of yellow broom, Where blossom gay adorns the bush, And little warblers wanton flee; But sweeter is the harmless blush, Of bonny Annie of Woodhouselee.
Her cheeks are like the new blown rose, And in her eyes sweet joy is seen, Her hair in waving ringlets flows, As she steps owre the dewv green. Were I a bird I'd pipe a note, From yonder lofty spreading tree, ​That grows before the happy cot, Where dwells sweet Annie of Woodhouselee.
I'd rise up wi' the early morn, And hail her with my sweetest lays, When she gangs barefoot to the burn, To spread abread her mother's claes. The heather blooms on Pentland hills, The rising sun blinks o'er the sea, While Annie breathes the fragrant gales, On yon burnside by Woodhouselee.
Come gentle peace, thou heavenly friend, And soother of terestrial woe, Do thou thy olive branch extend, Whenever love does find a foe; Till joy and harmony unite, And Annie’s love wi' mine agree, Then I'll enclasp my heart’s delight, The bonny lass of Woodhouselee.
FINIS.
# The Woodpecker (1825)

The Woodpecker;
To which is added,
Maggy Lauder,
And an
Advice to Lasses.
STIRLING:
PRINTED BY W. MACNIE.
1825.
* The Woodpecker
* Maggy Lauder
* Advice to Lasses
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Maggie Lauder

* "Maggy Lauder", in Maggy Lauder (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Glasgow
* "Maggy Lauder", in The Woodpecker (1825), a chapbook printed in Stirling
* "Maggie Lauder", in The Book of Scottish Song (1843), edited by Alexander Whitelaw
# The Picture in the House

* "The Picture in the House" in Weird Tales, 3 (1) (December 1923 - January 1924)
* "The Picture in the House" in Weird Tales, 29 (3) (March 1937)
# The Woodpecker (1825)/Advice to lasses

AN ADVICE TO LASSES
Air—Logan Streams.
Come all and listen, the news is sad, for our young men are surely mad There flesh is very nigh their bones— they feed your lasses on tough scones.
Now since you have the tooth-ach ta'en, and ye can hardly walk your lane: The scones we would have rather boil'd, than ha'en your teeth so sorely spoil'd.
Young lasses you have now ga'en mad: to tell your teeth so soon turned bad; You'll no get sale but in the dark— for we'er afraid you have lost mark.
You must go now and burn your jaws, then file your teeth like the auld saws; For if that you cannot eat scones, you'll no can gang through our Carse loans.
​O lasies you must now take care, your head and teeth are spoil't so sair; Do not eat any thing that's tough, since your young mouths' are turned so rough.
Your teeth are chatter'd now so sair, you'll have to eat something that's rare; You must get meat that's saft and fine— on sowans and butler you must dine.
If we can neither call nor pay, no longer in this place we'el stay; To come to you we'er fairly set, the change-house breeding for to get.
Since on our breeding you're so sair, a lesson fit you must prepare; To come for that to such a place, is ga'en to diel for to seek grace —
O we will keep our heads abean. and will not wear a' your auld shoon; For a' your din and a' your jaws: keep your ain fish-guts to your ain sea maws.
O lasses now take our advice, for now's the time for to be wise; If scones and ale you get by chance, learn to think twice, or you speak twice.
​Then ye may jaw as lang's you like, and sport a-while at boag or dyke; Do not begin for to tell lies— mind a close mouth doth catch no flies.
Our song to end we do prepare, we don't pretend to have much lair- We dinna like to let you gang, Wi'a that jaw ye have so lang.
FINIS.
# An Advice to Lasses

* "Advice to lasses", in The Woodpecker (1825), a chapbook printed in Stirling
* "A popular new song", in Netherton ball (1825), a chapbook printed in Stirling
# Netherton ball/A popular new song

A POPULAR NEW SONG.
Air—Logan Streams.
Come all and listen, the news is sad,
for our young men are surely mad
There flesh is very nigh their bones—
they feed your lasses on tough scones.
Now since you have the tooth-ach ta'en,
and ye can hardly walk your lane:
The scones we would have rather boil’d,
than ha’en your teeth so sorely spoil’d.
Young lasses you have now ga’en mad:
to tell your teeth so soon turned bad;
You'll no get sale but in the dark—
for we'er afraid you have lost mark.
You must go now and burn your jaws,
then file your teeth like the auld saws;
For if that you cannot eat scones,
you'll no can gang through our Carse (illegible text)
​O lasses you must now take care,
your head and teeth are spoil'd so sair;
Do not eat any thing that's tough,
since your young mouths' are turned so rough.
Your teeth are chatter'd now so sair,
you'll have to eat something that’s rare;
You must get meat that’s saft and fine—
on sowans and butter you must dine.
If we can neither call nor pay,
no longer in this place we'el stay;
To come to you we'er fairly set,
the change-house breeding for to get.
Since on our breeding you’re so sair,
a lesson fit you must prepare;
To come for hat to such a place,
is ga’en to diel for to seek grace —
O we will keep our heads abean.
and will not wear a' your auld shoon;
For a' your din and a' your jaws:
keep your ain fish-guts to your ain sea maws.
O lasses now take our advice
for now’s the time for to be wise;
If scones and ale you get by chance,
learn to think twice, or you speak once.
​Then ye may jaw as lang’s you like'.
and sport a-while at boag or dyke;
Do not begin for to tell lies—
mind a close mouth doth catch no flies.
Our song to end we do prepare,
we don't pretend to hare much lair—
We dinna like to let you gang,
we a that jaw ye have so lang.
FINIS.
# Battle of Waterloo ("Scotch sodgers true, wi' bonnets blue")

"Scotch sodgers true, wi' bonnets blue"
* "Scottish Glory", in Scottish glory (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Stirling
* "Battle of Waterloo", in Battle of Waterloo, The Bonnet so Blue, and Love has Eyes (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Stirling
# Battle of Waterloo

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "Battle of Waterloo"
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, Wikidata item
This is a disambiguation page. It lists works that share the same title. If an article link referred you here, please consider editing it to point directly to the intended page.
* "Battle of Waterloo", unattributed poem ("Scotch sodgers true, wi' bonnets blue")
* Battle of Waterloo, diary accounts
* "The Battle of Waterloo", unattributed poem ("Come, all you valiant heroes bold")
* "The Battle of Waterloo", a short story by Alexander Kielland
# Battle of Waterloo (Neilson)/The Battle of Waterloo

The Battle of Waterloo.
Come, all you valiant heroes bold,
    I pray you lend an ear,
There was not ſuch a battle fought,
no, not this many a year.
All on the plains of Waterloo,
on the 18th day of June,
Againſt the proud ſons of France, we pull’d their Emperor down.
Chor. As on the plains of Waterloo, it was a bloody fray, And ages yet unborn, ſhall read the glories of that day.
’Twas on the 16th day of June the battle it began, With courage bold each hero fought, with valour every man, And at the hour of 12 o’clock began the bloody fight, And the battle was not ended, till it dropt the veil of night.
’Twas on the 17th day of June, about the hour of nine, The Britiſh and the Pruſſians their armies did combine, The Duke of Wellington came up all with a warlike band, Come, come, my boys, we’ll beat them down, while we have power to ſtand,
​When the Pruſſian cavalry came up, they fought like lions bold, Led on by General Blucher of 83 years old ; Like lions bold, undaunted then, we forced them to fly, Come, come, cries General Blucher, we’ll conquer them or die.
And when the dreadful moan came in, the 18th day of June, And near the hour of twelve o’clock, ten thouſand were cut down. Then cried the Duke of Wellington, Come on, my warlike men, This is the day they’ll conquer us, or we will conquer them.
They clos’d full ſaſt on every ſide, no ſlackneſs could be found, And many a thouſand heroes bold lay dead upon the ground, Reſolved was Duke Wellington, to lay the Frenchmen’s pride, The fields were ſtain’d with crimſon blood, death teem’d on every ſide.
Great guns did roar like thunder, the battle rag’d amain, And in this gallant action, many thouſands there were ſlain, ​One hundred and twenty cannon, from them we took away, Six eagles fine we took from them, all on that glorious day.
We hope this glorious action will bring peace for evermore, All nations ſhall united be, through every diſtant ſhore, Succeſs unto Duke Wellington, who gain’d this glorious day, Likewiſe to General Blucher, that always fought his way.
# Battle of Waterloo (Neilson)/Lawrie O'Broom's Rambles from Ireland to Scotland

Lawrie O’Broom’s Rambles from Ireland to
Scotland.
THE trade it is bad, now good people I hear; And my name it is Lawrie O’Broom, sir, My father, he died, left me all that he had, ’Twas a good breeding sow; and a loom, ſir.
I lived quite happy a very ſhort ſpace, Till I married a wife, who ſoon alter’d the cafe, She blackened my eyes, and ſpat in my face; It was tight times for Lawrie O’Broome, ſir.
I thought to myſelf this would not long do, my paſſion no longer could ſmother; I inſtantly ſold off my loom and my ſow, and ſent the jade hone to her mother.
And then for old Scotland I ſtraightway did ſteer, to leave that ſweet place I once lov’d ſo dear, With grief in my boſom, was ready to tear the heart out of Lawrie O’Broom, Sir.
​I ſhould’rd my cudgel and bundle again, my figure being one of the oddeſt; I did not weel ken the right soad frae the wrang, but held to the road that was broadeſt,
Till at length I arrived at Donaghadee, and to my ſurpriſe laid me cloſe on the ſea, I wiſh’d for the wings of a ſwallow to flee; what a tight bird was Lawrie O’Broom, ſir.
They hoisd me on board of a fight little ſmack, anongſt a parcel of jovial gay fellows; I rous’d up my heart, and I ſung Paddy Whack, As we ſteer’d o’er the turbulent billows.
Till at length I got ſea-ſick, was ready to die, and the meat in my belly was ſpung’d quite dry; Whilſt I lay beſmear’d like a pig in a ftye; for a doctor cried Lawrie O’Broom, ſir.
I bounc’d upon deck to view Ireland once more, which was a dangerous risſ of my neck, ſir, I ran up the maſt ladder to view Hibernia’s ſhore, and then I was far above deck, ſir
When I found that old Ireland was out of any view, I was forc’d to come down by the captain and crew, I thought on my wife, my loom, and my ſow, but far diſtant was Lawrie O’Broom, ſir
At four in the morning we came to Stranraer, when the people were all ſaſt a deep, ſir, The ſtreets I rambled all up and down, Till a ſentry I chanc’d for to meet, ſir.
He aſk’d me my name, trade, and place of abode, I told him I was a weaver juſt travelling the road, And the name that my father had on me beftow’d, I told him was Lawrie O’Broom, ſir,
​The Sportsman be took a light peep at my dreſs, And then he begin for to prat, ſir, Saying, how does the Cropies in Ireland now do, And whether the number’s got many or few?
The d--v--l a Cropie nor, Ireland I knew, I am a Scotchman, ſaid Lawrie O’Broom,
O he ſaid i was a Cropie by the cut of my hair, Which left me in tears for to wander; I inſtantly toft up his heels in the air, And laid him as flat as a flounder.
Whilſt he like a paddock did ſprawl on the ground, I ran like a hare in front of a hound, While the hills and the vallies did echo around, With the people crying Lawrie O’Broom, Sir.
# Battle of Waterloo (Neilson)/The Plough Boy

The Plough Boy.
COME, all you lads and laſſes, come liſten here awhile, A merry ſong I’ll ſing to you, will cauſe your hearts to ſmile; My ſong it is not very long, ſung with a merry glee, O, And you may ſing it to your love, while ſhe ſits on your knee, O. Tarry dilly O, tanry dilly O, right tol the rol, tol the rol te tarry dilly O.
’Tis of a merry plough boy, was plowing of his land, He cried Ho! unto his horſes, and boldly bade them ſtand; ​When he ſat down upon his plough, and then began to ſing O, Young Jack he ſung ſo ſweetly, he made the vallies ring O.
       Tarry dilly O; &c.
There was farmer’s daughter a nutting in the wood. And when ſhe heard young Jockey ſing, he charm’d her where the ſtood; The nuts that ſhe had gathered ſhe threw them all away O, For in the wood behind him no longer could ſhe ſtay O. Tarry dilly O, &c.
Jockey left his horſes,
and Jockey left his plough,
And he went to the green wood,
his courage for to ſhow; He took her by the middle ſmall, and gently laid her down, O; Come, Jack, ſaid ſhe, I long to ſee the world going round, O. Tarry dilly O, &c.
When Jockey had tilled and ſowed o’er and o’er, When Jockey had ſowed till he could ſow no more, ​They on the green did walk, ſhe on his breaſt did lean, O,
Jack, ſaid ſhe, I long to ſee the world going round again, O! Tarry dilly O, &c.
When twenty weeks were over, and twenty weeks were paft, She ſent Jack a letter, but jack had left his place; Wher forty wecks were over, this damſel had a ſon, O; Her father and her mother of him ſeem’d very fond, O. Tarry dilly O.
Come all you farmers’ daughters, take this advice of mine, If that you do a nutting go, come back in a ſhort time; For it that you do ſtay too late, to hear the plough boy ſing, O, It is a chance but you may get a charm ’neath your apron-ſtring, O! Tarry dilly O, tarry dilly O, right to! the rol, -tol the roll te tarry dilly O.
# Trade o' langsyne, or, The mechanic's farewell/John Anderson My Jo

JOHN ANDERSON MY JO.
John Anderson my jo, John, I wonder what you mean, To rise sae early in the morn, and sit sae late at e’en; Yell blear out a’ your e’en John, and why shou’d ye
do so? Gang sooner to your bed at e’en, John Anderson,
my jo.
John Anderson my jo, John, ye were my first con-
ceit, Ye need na think it strange, John, tho’ I lo’e you
ear’ and late; They sae yere turnin auld, John, I scarce believe
it’s so, For I think ye’re ay the same to me, John Ander-
son my jo.
John Anderson my jo, John, when we were first ac-
quaint,
Your locks were like the raven, John, your bonny
brow was brent; But now ye’ve turned bald, John, your locks are like
the snow, My blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson
my jo.
​John Anderson my jo, John, we’ve 'een our bairn’s
bairns; And yet, my dear John Anderson, I’m happy in
your arms; And sae are ye in mine John, I’m sure ye’ll ne’er
sae no, Tho’ the days are past that we have seen, John An-
derson my jo.
John Anderson my jo, John, frae year to year we’ve
past; And soon that year may come, John, that will bring
us to our last; But let not that affright us, John, our hearts were
ne’er our foe, While in innocent delight we’ve liv’d, John Ander-
son ray jo.
John Andersen any jo, John, we've climb’d the hill
thegither, And mony a canty day, John, we’ve had wi’ane
anither; Now we maun totter down, John, and hand in hand
we’ll go, And we’ll sleep thegither at the fit, John Anderson
my jo.
# Trade o' langsyne, or, The mechanic's farewell/The Garland of Love

THE GARLAND OF LOVE.
How sweet are the flowers that grow by yon fountain, And sweet are the cowslips that spangle the grove, And sweet is the breeze that blows over the mountain, But sweeter by far is the lad that I love.
I’ll weave a gay garland, a fresh blowing garland, With lilies and roses, and sweet blooming poses, To give to the lad my heart tells me I love.
It was down in the vale where the sweet Torza gliding In murmuring streams ripples thro’ the dark grove; I own’d what I felt, all my passion confiding, To ease the fond sighs of the lad that I love.
Then I’ll weave a gay garland, &c.
FINIS.
# Scottish glory/The Lad that I Love

THE LAD THAT I LOVE.
How sweet are the flowers that grow by yon fountain, And sweet are the cowslips that spangle the grove, And sweet is the breeze that blows over yon mountain; Yet none is so sweet as the lad that I love. Then I'll weave him a garland, A fresh flowing garland, With lillies, and roses, And sweet blooming posies; A garland I'll give to the lad that I love.
​It was down in the vale, where the sweet Torza gliding, Its murmuring stream ripples through the dark grove, I own'd what I felt, all my passion confiding, To ease the fond sighs of the lad that I love. Then I'll weave, &c.
# The Garland of Love

"How sweet are the flowers that grow by yon fountain"
* "The Lad that I Love", in Scottish glory (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Stirling
* "The Garland of Love", in Trade o' langsyne, or, The mechanic's farewell (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Glasgow
# Trade o' langsyne, or, The mechanic's farewell

THE
Trade o' Langsyne,
Or, The Mechanic's Farewell;
To which is added,
CAWDER FAIR,
John Anderson my Jo,
The Bonny Wood of Craigie-lee,
AND
The Garland of Love
GLASGOW,
Published and sold Wholesale and Retail by R. Hutchison & Co. 10, Saltmarket.
* Trade o' Langsyne, or, The Mechanic's Farewell
* Cawder Fair
* John Anderson My Jo
* The Bonny Wood of Craigee-lee
* The Garland of Love
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Trade o' langsyne, or, The mechanic's farewell/Trade o' Langsyne, or, The Mechanic's Farewell

The Trade o' Langsyne,
OR
The Mechanic’s Farewell.
TUNE—Auld Langsyne.
When you and I together met, The trade was in its prime; But now its fail’d, and we maun part, The trade o’ langsyne: The trade o’ langsyne, my-jo, The trade o’ langsyne, But now its fail’d, an’ we maun part The trade o’ langsyne.
When trade was brisk, we a’ were right, An’ things wi’ us gaed fine, But now a’s tapsaherie gane, Its no like langsyne: Its no like langsyne, my jo, Its no like langsyne; But now a’s tapsalterie gane, Its no like langsyne.
Wi’ dig die breeks an’ muslin prose, Our lives we out maun pine, For want o' that which now is gane, The trade o' langsyne: ​The trade o’ langsyne, my jo The trade o’ langsyne, For want o’ that which is now gane, The trade o’ langsyne.
Our taxes too are grown sae big, Beneath them sair we crine, The want o’ wark, an' meat sae dear, Its no like langsyne: Its no like langsyne, my jo, Its no like langsyne. The want o’ wark, an’ meat sae dear, Its so like langsyne.
The times may mend, an’ we may meet, . Nae mair oursells to pine, An’ this will come when it revives, The trade o’ langsyne: The trade o’ langsyne, my jo, The trade o’ langsyne, An’ this will come when it revives, The trade o’ langsyne.
# Trade o' langsyne, or, The mechanic's farewell/Cawder Fair

CAWDER FAIR.
As I gaed into Cawder town, to sell my market ware, man. The lads and lasses, a’ sae fine, were skelping to the fair, man.
​The fiddlers play’d, the younkers flang, wi’ muckle fun an’ glee, man, An’ ilka lad cried to his lass, “Come here an’ dance wi’ me,” man.
Ilk bonny lass, fresh as the morn, an’ red as ony rose, man, Gade through amang the chapmen’s stands, their beauty to disclose, man. The whisky made the young men bauld, an’ heez’d them up wi’ houp, man; But or the day was done some sand the pith o’ the gill stoop, man.
John Cleek-the-purse gade thro’ the fair, ay looking for a prize, man. An’ e’ed them weel that handled cash, the same for to capsize, man. Wi’ horse an’ nowt, sic yellochin maist like to rend the air, man, An’ mony tricks were tried an' done that day at Cawder fair, man.
Some lost their bonnets, some their cash, some lost their senses a’ man. An’ some fell o’er an’ doz’d asleep, by hedge, dykeside, or wa’, man; An’ mony a ane for want o’ thought, brought on baith dool an’ care, man. An’ got a backcast a’ their days, by keepin' Cawder fair, man.
# Thou Bonnie Wood of Cragie Lea

* "The Bonny Wood of Craigee-lee", in Trade o' langsyne, or, The mechanic's farewell (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Glasgow
* "Thou bonnie wood of Cragie lea", in Seven love songs (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Kincardine
* "Bonnie Wood of Craigie Lee", in The Irish Wedding (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Edinburgh
* "Wood of Craigie Lea", in Lament for Abercrombie (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Stirling
* "Bonnie Wood of Craigie lea", in Allan Tine o' Harrow (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Stirling
* "Bonny wood of Craigie lea" in Cream of Tannahill's Songs (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Glasgow
* "Bonnie wood of Craigie lea", in Bonnie wood of Craigie lea (1822), a chapbook printed in Edinburgh
* "The wood of Craigie-lea", in The Book of Scottish Song (1843), edited by Alexander Whitelaw
# Trade o' langsyne, or, The mechanic's farewell/The Bonny Wood of Craigee-lee

The Bonny Wood of Craigie-lee.
Chorus—Thou bonny wood of Craigie-lee, Thou bonny wood of Craigie-lee Near thee I spent life’s early day, And won my Mary’s heart in thee.
The broom, the bri’r, the birken bush, bloom bonny o’er thy flow’ry sea, An’ a’die sweets that ane can wish, frae nature’s ‘han are shrew'd on thee Thou bonny wood, &c.
Far' ben thy'dark green plantin shade the cushat croodles am’rously The mavis down thy bughted glade, 19 J‘ gais echo ring frae ev’ry tree. Thou bonny wood, & co.
Awa’ ye thoughtless murderous gang wha teat the nestlings ,ere they flee; They’ll sing you yet a canty sang, then, O in pity let them be. Thou bonny’ wood &c.
When winter blaws in sleety showers frae aff the North hills gae below, He lightly skiffs thy bonny bow’rs, as laith to harm asleep in Thee. Thou bonny wood; &c.
​Tho’ fate should drag me south the line, or owre the wide Atlantic sea, The happy hours I’ll ever min’ that I in youth hae spent in thee. Thou bonny wood, See
# Battle of Waterloo, The Bonnet so Blue, and Love has Eyes

BATTLE OF
WATERLOO,
The Bonnet so Blue,
AND
LOVE HAS EYES.
SOLD WHOLESALE BY J. FRASER & CO. PRINTERS, STIRLING.
* Battle of Waterloo
* Answer to the Blue Bonnet
* Love Has Eyes
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Representative American Plays

* related portals: American literature
* sister projects: Wikidata item
A collection of 25 American plays, stretching from 1767 to then-recent 1911, Arthur Hobson Quinn's Representative American Plays provides an expansive, representative sample of American drama. Included before each play is an introduction by Quinn which provides commentary and historical context.
Layout 2
REPRESENTATIVE AMERICAN PLAYS
REPRESENTATIVE AMERICAN PLAYS
EDITED WITH INTRODUCTIONS AND NOTES
BY
ARTHUR HOBSON QUINN University of Pennsylvania
NEW YORK THE CENTURY CO.
1922
Copyright, 1917, by The Century Co. Published January, 1917. Reprinted 1917, 1919 Second Edition, Revised, 1920
Printed in U. S. A.
to H. McK. Q.
But for whose eyes and whose heart This book had never existed.
CONTENTS
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1960, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 63 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Battle of Waterloo, The Bonnet so Blue, and Love has Eyes/Battle of Waterloo

BATTLE OF WATERLOO.
# Battle of Waterloo, The Bonnet so Blue, and Love has Eyes/Answer to the Blue Bonnet

ANSWER TO THE BLUE BONNET.
# Battle of Waterloo, The Bonnet so Blue, and Love has Eyes/Love Has Eyes

LOVE HAS EYES.
FINIS.