The soul of man was made to walk the skies.
Live now; be damn'd hereafter.
We push time from us, and we wish him back; * * * * * * Life we think long and short; death seek and shun.
And friend received with thumps upon the back.
Death loves a shining mark, a signal blow.
When men of infamy to grandeur soar, They light a torch to show their shame the more.