The Windy Satisfaction Of The Tongue.

[b]ut It Is Only What Happens, When They Die, To All Mortals. The Sinews No Longer Hold The Flesh And The Bones Together, And Once The Spirit Has Let The White Bones, All The Rest Of The Body Is Made Subject To The Fire's Strong Fury, But The Soul Flitters Out Like A Dream And Flies Away.

The Bitter Dregs Of Fortune's Cup To Drain.

By Jove The Stranger And The Poor Are Sent, And What To Those We Give, To Jove Is Lent.

Evil Deeds Do Not Prosper; The Slow Man Catches Up With The Swift.

Look At Me! I'm A Puffy Pink Cloud!