Thrust Your Head Into The Public Street,

Hate Pollutes The Mind.

I Have Heard It Said There Is An Art Which In Their Piedness Shares With Great Creating Nature.

Here Come The Lovers, Full Of Joy And Mirth.— Joy, Gentle Friends! Joy And Fresh Days Of Love Accompany Your Hearts!

When That Churl Death My Bones With Dust Shall Cover.

What Wouldst Thou Do, Old Man? Think'st Thou That Duty Shall Have Dread To Speak When Power To Flattery Bows?