Since Long I've Held Silence A Remedy

It Is A Profitable Thing, If One Is Wise, To Seem Foolish.

The Burning Gaze Of A Young Woman, Such As Hath Tasted Man, Shall Not Escape Me; For I Have A Spirit Keen To Mark These Things.

I Say You Must Not Win An Unjust Case By Oaths.

And Now It Goes As It Goes And Where It Ends Is Fate. And Neither By Singeing Flesh Nor Tipping Cups Of Wine Nor Shedding Burning Tears Can You Enchant Away The Rigid Fury.

So In The Libyan Fable It Is Told That Once An Eagle, Stricken With A Dart, Said, When He Saw The Fashion Of The Shaft: With Our Own Feathers, Not By Others' Hands, Are We Now Smitten.