Be Still Prepared For Death: And Death

I Am That Merry Wanderer Of The Night.

What Wouldst Thou Do, Old Man? Think'st Thou That Duty Shall Have Dread To Speak When Power To Flattery Bows?

[s]ince Brevity Is The Soul Of Wit, And Tediousness The Limbs And Outward Flourishes, I Will Be Brief.

O, What Men Dare Do! What Men May Do! What Men Daily Do, Not Knowing What They Do.

My Free Drift Halts Not Particularly, But Moves Itself In A Wide Sea Of Wax; No Levelled Malice Infects One Comma In The Course I Hold, But Flies An Eagle Flight, Bold And Forth On, Leaving No Tract Behind.