Ah, Lives Of Men! When

Black Smoke, The Flickering Sister Of Fire.

A Prosperous Fool Is A Grievous Burden.

If A Man Suffers Ill, Let It Be Without Shame; For This Is The Only Profit When We Are Dead. You Will Never Say A Good Word About Deeds That Are Evil And Disgraceful.

For This Our Task Hath Fate Spun Without Fail To Last For Ever Sure, That We On Man Weighed Down With Deeds Of Hate Should Follow Till The Earth His Life Immure. Nor When He Dies Can He Boast Of Being Truly Free.

O Death The Healer, Scorn Thou Not, I Pray, To Come To Me: Of Cureless Ills Thou Art The One Physician. Pain Lays Not Its Touch Upon A Corpse.