How Many Fond Fools Serve

The Violence Of Either Grief Or Joy, Their Own Enactures With Themselves Destroy.

Is Man No More Than This? Consider Him Well. Thou Ow'st The Worm No Silk, The Beast No Hide, The Sheep No Wool, The Cat No Perfume. Here's Three On's Are Sophisticated. Thou Art The Thing Itself; Unaccommodated Man Is No More Than Such A Poor, Bare, Forked Animal As Thou Art.

How Sharper Than A Serpent's Tooth It Is To Have A Thankless Child!

It Is Lost At Dice, What Ancient Honor Won.

There's Not A Note Of Mine That's Worth The Noting.