In youth alone, unhappy mortals live; But, ah! the mighty bliss is fugitive: Discolour'd sickness, anxious labour, come, And age, and death's inexorable doom.
Harsh necessity, and the newness of my kingdom, force me to do such things and to guard my frontiers everywhere.
Then endure for a while, and live for a happier day!
Fear betrays unworthy souls.
Trust not too much to appearances
There should be no strife with the vanquished or the dead.