When I am dead, I hope it may be said, 'His sins were scarlet, but his books were read.
Write as the wind blows and command all words like an army!
He served his god so faithfully and well
That now he sees him face to face in hell.
For no one, in our long decline,
So dusty, spiteful and divided,
Had quite such pleasant friends as mine,
Or loved them half as much as I did.