'Tis the white stag, Fame, we're a-hunting, bid the world's hounds come to horn!

The book shd. be a ball of light in one's hand.

'Tis not need we know our every thought Or see the work shop where each mask is wrought Wherefrom we view the world of box and pit, Careless of wear, just so the mask shall fit And serve our jape's turn for a night or two.

USURY is the cancer of the world, which only the surgeon’s knife of Fascism can cut out of the life of the nations.

With Usura With usura hath no man a house of good stone each block cut smooth and well fitting.

What thou lovest well remains, the rest is dross What thou lov'st well shall not be reft from thee What thou lov'st well is thy true heritage Whose world, or mine or theirs or is it of none? First came the seen, then thus the palpable Elysium, though it were in the halls of hell. What thou lovest well is thy true heritage.

Gloom and solemnity are entirely out of place in even the most rigorous study of an art originally intended to make glad the heart of man.