Dream On, Dream On, Of

Travelers Never Did Lie, Though Fools At Home Condemn Them.

Have You Not A Moist Eye, A Dry Hand, A Yellow Cheek, A White Beard, A Decreasing Leg, An Increasing Belly? Is Not Your Voice Broken, Your Wind Short, Your Chin Double, Your Wit Single, And Every Part About You Blasted With Antiquity?

There Are Many Events In The Womb Of Time Which Will Be Delivered.

What Can Be Happier Than For A Man, Conscious Of Virtuous Acts, And Content With Liberty, To Despise All Human Affairs?

What's The Newest Grief? Each Minute Tunes A New One.