I Live An Idle Burden To The

Wine Can Of Their Wits The Wise Beguile, Make The Sage Frolic, And The Serious Smile

God Help Me, I'm Just Not That Bright.

Rather I'd Choose Laboriously To Bear A Weight Of Woes, And Breathe The Vital Air, A Slave To Some Poor Hind That Toils For Bread, Than Reign The Sceptred Monarch Of The Dead.

After The Event, Even A Fool Is Wise.

We Mortals Hear Only The News, And Know Nothing At All.