Every ruler is harsh whose laws is new.
The tongue of slander is too prompt with wanton malice to wound the stranger.
We spoil ourselves with scruples long as things go well.
The anvil of justice is planted firm, and fate who makes the sword does the forging in advance.
His resolve is not to seem the bravest, but to be.
And though all streams flow from a single course to cleanse the blood from polluted hand, they hasten on their course in vain.