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--Albert Einstein

LXVI



Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,

As to behold desert a beggar born,

And needy nothing trimm\'d in jollity,

And purest faith unhappily forsworn,

And gilded honour shamefully misplac\'d,

And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,

And right perfection wrongfully disgrac\'d,

And strength by limping sway disabled

And art made tongue-tied by authority,

And folly--doctor-like--controlling skill,

And simple truth miscall\'d simplicity,

And captive good attending captain ill:

  Tir\'d with all these, from these would I be gone,

  Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.

 	--William Shakespeare

They say marriages are made in Heaven. But so is thunder and lightning.
Clint Eastwood

LXXII



O! lest the world should task you to recite

What merit lived in me, that you should love

After my death,--dear love, forget me quite,

For you in me can nothing worthy prove;

Unless you would devise some virtuous lie,

To do more for me than mine own desert,

And hang more praise upon deceased I

Than niggard truth would willingly impart:

O! lest your true love may seem false in this

That you for love speak well of me untrue,

My name be buried where my body is,

And live no more to shame nor me nor you.

  For I am shamed by that which I bring forth,

  And so should you, to love things nothing worth.

 	--William Shakespeare