Marge, when I join an underground cult I expect a little support from my family.
A glorious death is his, who for his country falls.
It is the bold man who every time does best, at home or abroad.
Tell me, O muse, of travellers far and wide
Come then, put away your sword in its sheath, and let us two go up into my bed so that, lying together in the bed of love, we may then have faith and trust in each other.
We men are wretched things.