Pity melts the mind to love.
Deathless laurel is the victor's due.
She, though in full-blown flower of glorious beauty, Grows cold even in the summer of her age.
The blushing beauties of a modest maid.
Youth, beauty, graceful action seldom fail: But common interest always will prevail; And pity never ceases to be shown To him who makes the people's wrongs his own.
Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries, See the Furies arise!