For Too Much Rest Becomes A Pain.

Now Son, You Don’t Want To Drink Beer. That’s For Daddies, And Kids With Fake Ids.

Down From His Brow She Ran His Curls Like Thick Hyacinth Clusters Full Of Blooms

The Lot Of Man-to Suffer And Die.

The Charity That Is A Trifle To Us Can Be Precious To Others.

The Glorious Gifts Of The Gods Are Not To Be Cast Aside.