“Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss'dOf the Two Worlds so wisely - they are thrustLike foolish Prophets forth; their Words to ScornAre scatter'd, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust.”

“Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,Before we too into Dust descend;Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie,Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and - sans End!”

“Heav'n but the Vision of fulfill'd Desire,And Hell the Shadow from a Soul on fire,Cast on the Darkness into which Ourselves,So late emerged from, shall so soon expire.”

“Tis all a chequer board of nights and days, where destiny with men for pieces plays; hither and thither, and mates and slays.”

“Tis all a Checkerboard of Nights and Days Where Destiny with Men for Pieces plays: Hither and thither moves, and mates, and stays, And one by one back in the Closet lays.”

“With them the Seed of Wisdom did I sow, And with my own hand labour'd it to grow: And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd -- "I came like Water and like Wind I go.”

“And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press,End in the Nothing all Things end in - Yes -Then fancy while Thou art, Thou art but whatThou shalt be - Nothing - though shalt not be less.”