Thou Hast The Most Unsavoury

The Cat Will Mew, And Dog Will Have His Day.

Who Riseth From A Feast With That Keen Appetite That He Sits Down?

O God, O God, How Weary, Stale, Flat, And Unprofitable Seem To Me All The Uses Of This World!

Her Blood Is Settled, And Her Joints Are Stiff; Life And These Lips Have Long Been Separated: Death Lies On Her Like An Untimely Frost Upon The Sweetest Flower Of All The Field.

The Gray-eyed Morn Smiles On The Frowning Night, Checkering The Eastern Clouds With Streaks Of Light.