Arms Are My Ornaments, Warfare

For If He Like A Madman Lived; At Least He Like A Wise One Died.

Here Lies A Gentleman Bold Who Was So Very Brave He Went To Lengths Untold, And On The Brink Of The Grave Death Had On Him No Hold. By The World He Set Small Store-- He Frightened It To The Core-- Yet Somehow, By Fate's Plan, Though He'd Lived A Crazy Man, When He Died He Was Sane Once More.

I Had Rather Munch A Crust Of Brown Bread And An Onion In A Corner, Without Any More Ado Or Ceremony, Than Feed Upon Turkey At Another Man?s Table, Where One Is Fain To Sit Mincing And Chewing His Meat An Hour Together, Drink Little, Be Always Wiping His Fingers And His Chops, And Never Dare To Cough Nor Sneeze, Though He Has Never So Much A Mind To It, Nor Do A Many Things Which A Body May Do Freely By One?s Self.

Now Blessings Light On Him That First Invented This Same Sleep. It Covers A Man All Over, Thoughts And All, Like A Cloak.

Inasmuch As Ill-deeds Spring Up As A Spontaneous Crop, They Are Easy To Learn.