If I Don't Enjoy Myself Now, When

The Moving Finger Writes; And Having Writ, Moves On.

Justice Is The Soul Of The Universe.

Why, All The Saints And Sages Who Discuss'd Of The Two Worlds So Wisely - They Are Thrust Like Foolish Prophets Forth; Their Words To Scorn Are Scattered, And Their Mouths Are Stopped With Dust.

The Grape That Can With Logic Absolute The Two-and-seventy Jarring Sects Confute: The Sovereign Alchemist That In A Trice Life's Leaden Metal Into Gold Transmute.

Alas, That Spring Should Vanish With The Rose! That Youths Sweet-scented Manuscript Should Close!