We Are All The Fools Of Time

Keep Thy Smooth Words And Juggling Homilies For Those Who Know Thee Not.

As Winds Come Whispering Lightly From The West, Kissing, Not Ruffling, The Blue Deep's Serene.

In England The Only Homage Which They Pay To Virtue - Is Hypocrisy.

Here Lies Interred In The Eternity Of The Past, From Whence There Is No Resurrection For The Days - Whatever There May Be For The Dust - The Thirty-third Year Of An Ill-spent Life, Which, After A Lingering Disease Of Many Months Sank Into A Lethargy, And Expired, January 22d, 1821, A.d. Leaving A Successor Inconsolable For The Very Loss Which Occasioned Its Existence.

But I Had Not Quite Fixed Whether To Make Him [don Juan] End In Hell-or In An Unhappy Marriage,-not Knowing Which Would Be The Severest.