That We Devote Ourselves To

When The Liquor's Out, Why Clink The Cannikin?

Every One Soon Or Late Comes Round By Rome.

White Shall Not Neutralize The Black, Nor Good Compensate Bad In Man, Absolve Him So; Life's Business Being Just The Terrible Choice.

A Pretty Woman's Worth Some Pains To See.

It's Like Those Eerie Stories Nurses Tell, Of How Some Actor On A Stage Played Death, With Pasteboard Crown, Sham Orb And Tinselled Dart, And Called Himself The Monarch Of The World; Then, Going In The Tire-room Afterward, Because The Play Was Done, To Shift Himself, Got Touched Upon The Sleeve Familiarly, The Moment He Had Shut The Closet Door, By Death Himself. Thus God Might Touch A Pope At Unawares, Ask What His Baubles Mean, And Whose Part He Presumed To Play Just Now. Best Be Yourself, Imperial, Plain And True!