Better To Die On Your Feet Than

The Evils Of Mortals Are Manifold; Nowhere Is Trouble Of The Same Wing Seen.

It Is An Ill Thing To Be The First To Bring News Of Ill.

The Adulterer Dies. An Old Custom, Justice.

For The Impious Act Begets More After It, Like To The Parent Stock.

For In Pure Maidens, Knowing Not The Marriage-bed, The Glance Of The Eyes Sinks From Shame.