He Knew How To Say Many False

It Never Was Our Guise To Slight The Poor, Or Aught Humane Despise.

Reproach Is Infinite, And Knows No End So Voluble A Weapon Is The Tongue; Wounded, We Wound; And Neither Side Can Fail For Every Man Has Equal Strength To Rail.

Oh, My Tattered Rags Are Caught On Your Coffee Table.

The Single Best Augury Is To Fight For One's Country.

And Overpowered By Memory Both Men Gave Way To Grief. Priam Wept Freely For Man - Killing Hector, Throbbing, Crouching Before Achilles' Feet As Achilles Wept Himself, Now For His Father, Now For Patroclus Once Again And Their Sobbing Rose And Fell Throughout The House.