Though Death Be Poor, It

Some Report A Sea-maid Spawn'd Him; Some That He Was Begot Between Two Stock-fishes. But It Is Certain That When He Makes Water His Urine Is Congealed Ice.

A King Of Infinite Space

I Have Lived Long Enough. My Way Of Life Is To Fall Into The Sere, The Yellow Leaf, And That Which Should Accompany Old Age, As Honor, Love, Obedience, Troops Of Friends I Must Not Look To Have.

Let Us, Like Merchants, Show Our Foulest Wares, And Think Perchance They'll Sell; If Not, The Lustre Of The Better Yet To Show Shall Show The Better.

Love All, Trust A Few, Do Wrong To None.