Tell That To The Marines

Thou And I Are But The Blind Instruments Of Some Irresistible Fatality, That Hurries Us Along, Like Goodly Vessels Driving Before The Storm, Which Are Dashed Against Each Other, And So Perish.

Well, Then--our Course Is Chosen--spread The Sail-- Heave Oft The Lead, And Mark The Soundings Well-- Look To The Helm, Good Master--many A Shoal Marks This Stern Coast, And Rocks, Where Sits The Siren Who, Like Ambition, Lures Men To Their Ruin.

Here Is Neither Want Of Appetite Nor Mouths, Pray Heaven We Be Not Scant Of Meat Or Mirth.

...crystal And Hearts Would Lose All Their Merit In The World If It Were Not For Their Fragility.

Look At A Gown Of Gold, And You Will At Least Get A Sleeve Of It.