And Better Had They Ne'er Been Born,

On His Bold Visage Middle Age Had Slightly Press'd Its Signet Sage, Yet Had Not Quench'd The Open Truth And Fiery Vehemence Of Youth: Forward And Frolic Glee Was There, The Will To Do, The Soul To Dare.

From My Experience, Not One In Twenty Marries The First Love; We Build Statues Of Snow And Weep To See Them Melt.

Spangling The Wave With Lights As Vain As Pleasures In The Vale Of Pain, That Dazzle As They Fade.

Where, Where Was Roderick Then? One Blast Upon His Bugle Horn Were Worth A Thousand Men.

Covetousness Bursts The Sack And Spills The Grain.