I write and that way rid myself of me and then at last I can rest.
I write and that way rid myself of me and then at last I can rest.
“Reader, I was born and cried / Crackt so, smelt so, and so died, / Like to Caesar’s was my death, / He in senate lost his breath; / And alike interr’d doth lie, / Thy famous Romulus and I. / And, at last, like Flora fair, / I left the commonwealth mine air.”
John Hoskyns | Epitaph on the Fart in the Parliament House