If you have lived, take thankfully the past. Make, as you can, the sweet remembrance last.

Softly sweet, in Lydian measures, Soon he sooth'd his soul to pleasures. War, he sung, is toil and trouble; Honour but an empty bubble; Never ending, still beginning, Fighting still, and still destroying. If all the world be worth the winning, Think, oh think it worth enjoying: Lovely Thais sits beside thee, Take the good the gods provide thee.

Go miser go, for money sell your soul. Trade wares for wares and trudge from pole to pole, So others may say when you are dead and gone. See what a vast estate he left his son.

None but the brave deserve the fair.

For mysterious things of faith, rely on the proponent, Heaven's authority.

When he spoke, what tender words he used! So softly, that like flakes of feathered snow, They melted as they fell.

Old age creeps on us ere we think it nigh.