We Of The Craft Are All Crazy.

Old Man! 'tis Not Difficult To Die.

He Had Kept The Whiteness Of His Soul, And Thus Men O'er Him Wept.

Society Is Now One Polished Horde, Formed Of Two Mighty Tries, The Bores And Bored.

Your Thief Looks Exactly Like The Rest, Or Rather Better; 'tis Only At The Bar, And In The Dungeon, That Wise Men Know Your Felon By His Features.

Nothing So Difficult As A Beginning In Poesy, Unless Perhaps The End.