Mountains will go into labour, and a silly little mouse will be born.
Happy he who far from business, like the primitive are of mortals, cultivates with his own oxen the fields of his fathers, free from all anxieties of gain.
Fate with impartial hand turns out the doom of high and low; her capacious urn is constantly shaking the names of all mankind.
Who knows if the gods above will add tomorrow's span to this day's sum?
There is need of brevity, that the thought may run on.
When you have well thought out your subject, words will come spontaneously.