They sent forth men to battle, But no such men return; And home, to claim their welcome, Come ashes in an urn
Misfortune wandering the same track lights now upon one and now upon another.
For not many men, the proverb saith, can love a friend whom fortune prospereth unenvying.
Words are healers of the sick tempered.
I warn the marauder dragging plunder, chaotic, rich beyond all rights: he'll strike his sails, harried at long last, stunned when the squalls of torment break his spars to bits.
If you are not envied, you are not enviable.