The Teller Of A Mirthful Tale Has

He Who Hath Not A Dram Of Folly In His Mixture Hath Pounds Of Much Worse Matter In His Composition.

We Are Nothing; Less Than Nothing, And Dreams. We Are Only What Might Have Been.

Reader, If You Are Gifted With Nerves Like Mine, Aspire To Any Character But That Of A Wit.

Thus, When The Lamp That Lighted The Traveller At First Goes Out, He Feels Awhile Benighted, And Looks Around In Fear And Doubt. But Soon, The Prospect Clearing, By Cloudless Starlight On He Treads, And Thinks No Lamp So Cheering As That Light Which Heaven Sheds.

Your Absence Of Mind We Have Borne, Till Your Presence Of Body Came To Be Called In Question By It.