How sweet to remember the trouble that is past.
Nothing has more strength than dire necessity.
Waste not fresh tears over old griefs.
'Twas but my tongue, 'twas not my soul that swore.
Soon all of you immortals Will be as dead as we are! Come on then, what are you waiting for? Have you run out of thunderbolts?
The brash unbridled tongue, the lawless folly of fools, will end in pain. But the life of wise content is blest with quietness, escapes the storm and keeps its house secure.