War Is The Only Game

Many Miles Away There's A Shadow On The Door Of A Cottage On The Shore Of A Dark Scottish Lake.

Methinks I Will Not Die Quite Happy Without Having Seen Something Of That Rome Of Which I Have Read So Much.

The Lover's Pleasure, Like That Of The Hunter, Is In The Chase, And The Brightest Beauty Loses Half Its Merit, As The Flower Its Perfume, When The Willing Hand Can Reach It Too Easily. There Must Be Doubt; There Must Be Difficulty And Danger.

Welcome As The Flowers In May.

All Live By Seeming. The Beggar Begs With It, And The Gay Courtier Gains Land And Title, Rank And Rule, By Seeming; The Clergy Scorn It Not, And The Bold Soldier Will Eke With It His Service.--all Admit It, All Practise It; And He Who Is Content With Showing What He Is, Shall Have Small Credit In Church, Or Camp, Or State.--so Wags The World.