O Visions Ill Foreseen! Better

Midnight Shout And Revelry, Tipsy Dance And Jollity.

And, When Night Darkens The Streets, Then Wander Forth The Sons Of Belial, Flown With Insolence And Wine.

Fame Is The Last Infirmity Of The Human Mind.

He That Has Light Within His Own Clear Breast May Sit In The Centre, And Enjoy Bright Day: But He That Hides A Dark Soul And Foul Thoughts Benighted Walks Under The Mid-day Sun; Himself His Own Dungeon.

In The Sweat Of Thy Face Thou Shalt Eat Bread, Till Thou Return Unto The Ground; For Thou Out Of The Ground Wast Taken; Know Thy Birth, For Dust Thou Art, And Shalt To Dust Return.