If you wish me to weep, you yourself must first feel grief.
Whither, O god of wine, art thou hurrying me, whilst under thy all-powerful influence?
He wears himself out by his labours, and grows old through his love of possessing wealth.
Patience lightens the burthen we cannot avert.
No, but you're wrong now, and always will be.
Can you restrain your laughter, my friends?