Most Grievous Of All Deaths

I Long For Home, Long For The Sight Of Home.

A Shamefaced Man Makes A Bad Beggar.

By Jove The Stranger And The Poor Are Sent, And What To Those We Give, To Jove Is Lent.

We Men Are Wretched Things.

I Detest The Man Who Hides On Thing In The Depths Of His Heart And Speaks Forth Another.