And Flights Of Angels Sing

I Am Too Old To Fawn Upon A Nurse, Too Far In Years To Be A Pupil Now.

Your Worm Is Your Only Emperor For Diet; We Fat All Creatures Else To Fat Us, And We Fat Ourselves For Maggots.

And, Looking On It With Lack-lustre Eye, Says Very Wisely, "it Is Ten O'clock: Thus We May See," Quoth He, "how The World Wags."

Thou Art Thy Mother's Glass, And She In Thee Calls Back The Lovely April Of Her Prime...

Thyself Shall See The Act; For, As Thou Urgest Justice, Be Assured Thou Shalt Have Justice, More Than Thou Desir'st.