All Men's Faces Are True,

Tis An Ill Cook That Cannot Lick His Own Fingers.

Youth Is Full Of Sport, Age's Breath Is Short; Youth Is Nimble, Age Is Lame; Youth Is Hot And Bold, Age Is Weak And Cold; Youth Is Wild, And Age Is Tame.

Even Through The Hollow Eyes Of Death I Spy Life Peering.

How Sweet The Moonlight Sleeps Upon This Bank Here We Will Sit, And Let The Sounds Of Music Creep In Our Ears; Soft Stillness, And The Night Become The Touches Of Sweet Harmony

The Breaking Of So Great A Thing Should Make A Greater Crack: The Round World Should Have Shook Lions Into Civil Streets, And Citizens To Their Dens.