tribes Francis Fauquier. An Essay on Ways and Means for Raising Money for the Support of the Present War, without Increasing the Public Debts (1756) : Fauquier wrote this essay, which generated significant public debate, in the context of the Seven Years’ War with France. In it, he argued that the war would be too expensive for the government to finance by increasing taxes on manufacturers or workers, and suggested that taxes be levied on houses instead. In a second edition he added arguments in favour of a capitation tax based on estates and consumption.–Wikipedia downtown Warrenton Saturday every Saturday
O My People VIf the lost word is lost, if the spent word is spentIf the unheard, unspokenWord is unspoken, unheard;Still is the unspoken word, the Word unheard,The Word without a word, the Word withinThe world and for the world;And the light shone in darkness andAgainst the Word the unstilled world still whirledAbout the centre of the silent Word. O my people, what have I done unto thee.Where shall the word be found, where will the wordResound? Not here, there is not enough silenceNot on the sea or on the islands, notOn the mainland, in the desert or the rain land,For those who walk in darknessBoth in the day time and in the night timeThe right time and the right place are not hereNo place of grace for those who avoid the faceNo time to rejoice for those who walk among noise and denythe voice Ash Wednesday, T.S.Eliot, 1930
lament This is my grave of destiny here must I ever lie.The path I’ve trod through all my life has ended so let me die.All my life I’ve wondered just when my turn would come.And with a very honest hope my destiny is wonBut if I’ve won no one will knowAnd all should wonder whyA man as good and kind as I should really have to die.
promoman but the money that is spared on my memory suppresses my memory in posterity, and that which I fail to achieve in my life for my memory will not be made good by you or any other after my death—Maximilian I
Anthem The birds they sangAt the break of dayStart againI heard them sayDon’t dwell on whatHas passed awayOr what is yet to be.Ah the wars they willBe fought againThe holy doveShe will be caught againBought and soldAnd bought againThe dove is never free.Ring the bells that still can ringForget your perfect offeringThere is a crack a crack in everythingThat’s how the light gets in. —Leonard Cohen