Our Lives Are But Our Marches To

As Men Do Walk A Mile, Women Should Talk An Hour, After Supper. 'tis Their Exercise.

Let No Man Fear To Die, We Love To Sleep All, And Death Is But The Sounder Sleep.

Honor's A Thing Too Subtle For Wisdom; If Honor Lie In Eating, He's Right Honorable.

Grace Comes Often Clad In The Dusky Robe Of Desolation.

Daisies Smell-less, Yet Most Quaint, And Sweet Thyme True, Primrose, First Born Child Of Ver, Merry Spring-time's Harbinger.