Jesters Do Oft Prove Prophets.

One Whom The Music Of His Own Vain Tongue Doth Ravish Like Enchanting Harmony.

The Heart Hath Treble Wrong When It Is Barr'd The Aidance Of The Tongue.

Not Proud You Have, But Thankful That You Have. Proud Can I Never Be Of What I Hate, But Thankful Even For Hate That Is Meant Love.

And Then He Drew A Dial From His Poke, And Looking With Lack-lustre Eye, Says Very Wisely, 'it Is Ten O'clock: Thus We May See', Quoth He, 'how The World Wags: 'tis But An Hour Ago Since It Was Nine, And After One Hour More 'twill Be Eleven; And So From Hour To Hour We Ripe And Ripe, And Then From Hour To Hour We Rot And Rot.

The People Are The City.