Destiny waits alike for the free man as well as for him enslaved by another's might.
The anvil of justice is planted firm, and fate who makes the sword does the forging in advance.
Everyone's quick to blame the alien.
There is a limit to the best of health, disease is always a near neighbor.
For sufferers it is sweet to know before-hand clearly the pain that still remains for them.
The evils of mortals are manifold; nowhere is trouble of the same wing seen.