Misery makes sport to mock itself.
With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls, for stony limits cannot hold love out
Fall Greeks; fail fame; honour or go or stay; My major vow lies here, this I'll obey.
The proverb is something musty.
Modest wisdom plucks me from over-credulous haste.
Dream on, dream on, of bloody deeds and death.