For Now They Kill Me With A

O, Pardon Me, Thou Bleeding Piece Of Earth, / That I Am Meek And Gentle With These Butchers!

But No Perfection Is So Absolute, That Some Impurity Doth Not Pollute.

Come My Spade. There Is No Ancient Gentlemen But Gardeners, Ditchers, And Grave-makers; They Hold Up Adam's Profession.

All Of Creation’s A Farce. Man Was Born As A Joke. In His Head His Reason Is Buffeted Like Wind-blown Smoke. Life Is A Game. Everyone Ridicules Everyone Else. But He Who Has The Last Laugh Laughs Longest.

Highly Fed And Lowly Taught.