Smooth out with wine the worries of a wrinkled brow.
Get what start the sinner may, Retribution, for all her lame leg, never quits his track.
Money amassed either serves us or rules us.
The ear of the bridled horse is in the mouth.
He has not lived badly whose birth and death has been unnoticed by the world.
Alas, Postumus, the fleeting years slip by, nor will piety give any stay to wrinkles and pressing old age and untamable death.