So well thy words become thee as thy wounds.
Thus die I, thus, thus, thus. Now am I dead, Now am I fled; My soul is in the sky: Tongue, lose thy light; Moon take thy flight. Now die, die, die, die, die.
Be just, and fear not.
Their manners are more gentle, kind, than of Our human generation you shall find.
The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo.
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come.