I Say No Wealth Is Worth My

The Bitter Dregs Of Fortune's Cup To Drain.

Reproach Is Infinite, And Knows No End So Voluble A Weapon Is The Tongue; Wounded, We Wound; And Neither Side Can Fail For Every Man Has Equal Strength To Rail.

Like Leaves On Trees The Race Of Man Is Found,- Now Green In Youth, Now Withering On The Ground; Another Race The Following Spring Supplies: They Fall Successive, And Successive Rise.

It Is Equally Bad When One Speeds On The Guest Unwilling To Go, And When He Holds Back One Who Is Hastening. Rather One Should Befriend The Guest Who Is There, But Speed Him When He Wishes.

It Is Wrong To Sorrow Without Ceasing.