For the short-lived bloom and contracted span of brief and wretched life is fast fleeting away! While we are drinking and calling for garlands, ointments, and women, old age steals swiftly on with noiseless step.
When your armour is on, it is too late to retreat.
Remote though your farm may be, It's something to be the lord of one green lizard-and free.
Never does nature say one thing and wisdom another.
But who guards the guardians?
Few tyrants go down to the infernal regions by a natural death.