Even Were Sleep Is Concerned, Too Much

In Every Sorrowing Soul I Pour'd Delight, And Poverty Stood Smiling In My Sight.

Beware The Toils Of War ... The Mesh Of The Huge Dragnet Sweeping Up The World.

By Their Own Follies They Perished, The Fools.

It Never Was Our Guise To Slight The Poor, Or Aught Humane Despise.

To Labour Is The Lot Of Man Below; And When Jove Gave Us Life, He Gave Us Woe.