As children gath'ring pebbles on the shore. Or if I would delight my private hours With music or with poem, where so soon As in our native language can I find That solace?
Just deeds are the best answer to injurious words.
See golden days, fruitful of golden deeds, With joy and love triumphing.
Demoniac frenzy, moping melancholy.
So may'st thou live, till like ripe fruit thou drop Into thy mother's lap.
Death ready stands to interpose his dart.