And A Man's Life's No More Than

I'll Make Death Love Me; For I Will Contend Even With His Pestilent Scythe.

You Are Thought Here To The Most Senseless And Fit Man For The Job.

They Have Been At A Great Feast Of Languages, And Stolen The Scraps.

The Very Firstlings Of My Heart Shall Be The Firstlings Of My Hand.

In God's Name Cheerly On, Courageous Friends, To Reap The Harvest Of Perpetual Peace By This One Bloody Trial Of Sharp War.