How Vain, Without The Merit, Is The

Whatever Day Makes Man A Slave, Takes Half His Worth Away.

There Is Not Any Advantage To Be Won From Grim Lamentation.

[b]ut It Is Only What Happens, When They Die, To All Mortals. The Sinews No Longer Hold The Flesh And The Bones Together, And Once The Spirit Has Let The White Bones, All The Rest Of The Body Is Made Subject To The Fire's Strong Fury, But The Soul Flitters Out Like A Dream And Flies Away.

By Hook Or By Crook This Peril Too Shall Be Something That We Remember

We All Scribble Poetry.