The lot of man - to suffer and to die.

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown, Thus unlamented let me die, Steal from the world, and not a stone Tell where I lie.

Age and want sit smiling at the gate.

I am his Highness' dog at Kew; Pray tell me, sir, whose dog are you?

Fair tresses man's imperial race ensnare; And beauty draws us with a single hair.

Here am I, dying of a hundred good symptoms.

A perfect woman's but a softer man.