Behold, on wrong Swift vengeance waits; and art subdues the strong.
I too shall lie in the dust when I am dead, but now let me win noble renown.
To-morrow we embark upon the boundless sea.
Like strength is felt from hope, and from despair.
And his good wife will tear her cheeks in grief, his sons are orphans and he, soaking the soil red with his own blood, he rots away himself-more birds than women flocking round his body!
If you're gonna get mad at me every time I do something stupid, then I guess I'll just have to stop doing stupid things.