It Is Lost At Dice, What Ancient

No Metal Can--no, Not The Hangman's Axe--bear Half The Keenness Of Thy Sharp Envy.

The Robbed That Smiles, Steals Something From The Thief.

You Are An Alchemist; Make Gold Of That.

Foul Cankering Rust The Hidden Treasure Frets, But Gold That's Put To Use More Gold Begets.

We Will All Laugh At Gilded Butterflies.