While I Live, No Rich

Death, Only Death, Can Break The Lasting Chain; And Here, Ev'n Then, Shall My Cold Dust Remain

And Empty Heads Console With Empty Sound.

Fame Can Never Make Us Lie Down Contentedly On A Deathbed.

At Every Trifle Take Offense, That Always Shows Great Pride Or Little Sense.

Worth Makes The Man, And Want Of It The Fellow; The Rest Is All But Leather And Prunello.