Truly Upon Mortals Cometh Swift Of Foot

A Man Dies Not For The Many Wounds That Pierce His Breast, Unless It Be That Life's End Keep Pace With Death, Nor By Sitting On His Hearth At Home Doth He The More Escape His Appointed Doom.

Search Well And Be Wise, Nor Believe That Self-willed Pride Will Ever Be Better Than Good Counsel.

The Anvil Of Justice Is Planted Firm, And Fate Who Makes The Sword Does The Forging In Advance.

The Cure Is In The House, Not Brought By Other Hands From Distant Places, But By Its Own, In Agony And Blood.

Justice, Voiceless, Unseen, Seeth Thee When Thou Sleepest And When Thou Goest Forth And When Thou Liest Down. Continually Doth She Attend Thee, Now Aslant Thy Course, Now At A Later Time. These Lines Are From A Section Of Doubtful Or Spurious Fragments.