Nor dread nor hope attendA dying animal;A man awaits his endDreading and hoping all.

What shall I do for pretty girls Now my old bawd is dead?

Others because you did not keepThat deep-sworn vow have been friends of mine;Yet always when I look death in the face,When I clamber to the heights of sleep,Or when I grow excited with wine,Suddenly I meet your face.

I balanced all, brought all to mind, the years to come seemed waste of breath, a waste of breath the years behind, in balance with this life, this death.

I am still of opinion that only two topics can be of the least interest to a serious and studious mood - sex and the dead.