A Feast Not Profuse But Elegant; More

Well, Well, The World Must Turn Upon Its Axis, And All Mankind Turn With It, Heads Or Tails, And Live And Die, Make Love And Pay Our Taxes, And As The Veering Winds Shift, Shift Our Sails.

And Hold Up To The Sun My Little Taper.

Think Not I Am What I Appear.

Dreading That Climax Of All Human Ills The Inflammation Of His Weekly Bills.

For Pleasures Past I Do Not Grieve, Nor Perils Gathering Near; My Greatest Grief Is That I Leave Nothing That Claims A Tear.