Reproach is infinite, and knows no end So voluble a weapon is the tongue; Wounded, we wound; and neither side can fail For every man has equal strength to rail.
To him who hearkens to the gods, the gods give ear.
In youth and beauty wisdom is but rare!
Our business in the field of fight Is not to question, but to prove our might.
Men grow tired of sleep, love, singing and dancing sooner than of war.
Revenge is sweeter far than flowing honey.
Forgetful youth! but know, the Power above With ease can save each object of his love; Wide as his will, extends his boundless grace.
But curb thou the high spirit in thy breast, For gentle ways are best, and keep aloof From sharp contentions.
‘Tis true; ’tis certain; man though dead retains Part of himself; the immortal mind remains.
Grief tears his heart, and drives him to and fro, In all the raging impotence of woe.