Who Naught Suspects Is Easily Deceived.

My Flowery And Green Age Was Passing Away, And I Feeling A Chill In The Fires Had Been Wasting My Heart, For I Was Drawing Near The Hillside Above The Grave.

Death Had His Grudge Against Me, And He Got Up In The Way, Like An Armed Robber, With A Pike In His Hand.

Books Come At My Call And Return When I Desire Them; They Are Never Out Of Humor And They Answer All My Questions With Readiness. Some Present In Review Before Me The Events Of Past Ages; Others Reveal To Me The Secrets Of Nature. These Teach Me How To Live, And Those How To Die; These Dispel My Melancholy By Their Mirth, And Amuse Me By Their Sallies Of Wit. Some There Are Who Prepare My Soul To Suffer Everything, To Desire Nothing, And To Become Thoroughly Acquainted With Itself. In A Word, They Open The Door To All The Arts And Sciences.

Life In Itself Is Short Enough, But The Physicians With Their Art, Know To Their Amusement, How To Make It Still Shorter.

I Rejoiced In My Progress, Mourned My Weaknesses, And Commiserated The Universal Instability Of Human Conduct.