Our Pleasance Here Is All Vain Glory,

Timor Mortis Conturbat Me. The Fear Of Death Disturbs Me.

Your Law May Be Perfect, Your Knowledge Of Human Affairs May Be Such As To Enable You To Apply It With Wisdom And Skill, And Yet Without Individual Acquaintance With Men, Their Haunts And Habits, The Pursuit Of The Profession Becomes Difficult, Slow, And Expensive.

Neither Our Vices Nor Our Virtues Further The Poem.

London, Thou Art The Flower Of Cities All! Gemme Of All Joy, Jasper Of Jocunditie.

All Love Is Lost But Upon God Alone.