Ah, How Sweet It Is To Love!

Fortune Confounds The Wise, And When They Least Expect It Turns The Dice.

The Winds That Never Moderation Knew, Afraid To Blow Too Much, Too Faintly Blew; Or Out Of Breath With Joy, Could Not Enlarge Their Straighten'd Lungs Or Conscious Of Their Charge.

And Plenty Makes Us Poor.

Bankrupt Of Life, Yet Prodigal Of Ease.

Happy The Man, And Happy He Alone, He Who Can Call Today His Own; He Who, Secure Within, Can Say, Tomorrow Do Thy Worst, For I Have Lived Today.