And Plenty Makes Us Poor.

Politicians Neither Love Nor Hate.

Revenge, Revenge, Timotheus Cries, See The Furies Arise!

If You Are For A Merry Jaunt, I Will Try, For Once, Who Can Foot It Farthest.

Death Ends Our Woes, And The Kind Grave Shuts Up The Mournful Scene.

For Every Inch That Is Not Fool, Is Rogue.