Ask the gods nothing excessive.
Time, waxing old, doth all things purify.
Be it mine to draw from wisdom's fount, pure as it flows, that calm of soul which virtue only knows.
I willingly speak to those who know, but for those who do not know I forget.
The adulterer dies. An old custom, justice.
Justice shines in very smoky homes, and honors the righteous; but the gold-spangled mansions where the hands are unclean she leaves with eyes averted.