“Some find life and its marks to be feared
But the more life rimed upon the beard
The better the prose rhymed upon the tongue
Shaming the poet, once foolish and young.”
"For who can say they, be loose their mortal coil
And think that their flesh, will be saved from the soil?
Be you scoundrel or fool, prince or a poet
You walk over the bones of your past, 'ere you know it."