A Man Can Die But Once.

You Are An Alchemist; Make Gold Of That.

The Gates Of Monarchs Are Arched So High That Giants May Jet Through And Keep Their Impious Turbans On Without Good Morrow To The Sun.

He's A Soldier; And For One To Say A Soldier Lies, Is Stabbing.

A Noble Shalt Thou Have, And Present Pay; And Liquor Likewise Will I Give To Thee, And Friendship Shall Combine, And Brotherhood.

The Man That Hath No Music In Himself