No Man's Pie Is Freed From His

Thus We Play The Fool With The Time And The Spirits Of The Wise Sit In The Clouds And Mock Us.

Each Present Joy Or Sorrow Seems The Chief.

Arise, Fair Sun, And Kill The Envious Moon, Who Is Already Sick And Pale With Grief That Thou, Her Maid, Art Far More Fair Than She. . . .

Let The End Try The Man.

I Was Born Free As Caesar; So Were You