Remorse, The Fatal Egg That Pleasure Laid.

Anticipated Rents, And Bills Unpaid, Force Many A Shining Youth Into The Shade, Not To Redeem His Time, But His Estate, And Play The Fool, But At The Cheaper Rate.

Misery Still Delights To Trace Its Semblance In Another's Case.

The Slaves Of Custom And Established Mode, With Pack-horse Constancy We Keep The Road Crooked Or Straight, Through Quags Or Thorny Dells, True To The Jingling Of Our Leader's Bells.

Existence Is A Strange Bargain. Life Owes Us Little; We Owe It Everything. The Only True Happiness Comes From Squandering Ourselves For A Purpose.

Great Contest Follows, And Much Learned Dust Involves The Combatants; Each Claiming Truth, And Truth Disclaiming Both.