Swift As Shadow, Short As Any Dream

The People Are The City.

Such Antics Do Not Amount To A Man.

But O, How Bitter A Thing It Is To Look Into Happiness Through Another Man's Eyes.

The Bay-trees In Our Country Are All Withered, And Meteors Fright The Fixèd Stars Of Heaven. The Pale-faced Moon Looks Bloody On The Earth, And Lean-looked Prophets Whisper Fearful Change. Rich Men Look Sad, And Ruffians Dance And Leap; The One In Fear To Lose What They Enjoy, The Other To Enjoy By Rage And War. These Signs Forerun The Death Or Fall Of Kings.

He Draweth Out The Thread Of His Verbosity Finer Than The Staple Of His Argument.