Obedience, You Know, Is Good Luck's Mother,

I Have Learned To Hate All Traitors, And There Is No Disease That I Spit On More Than Treachery.

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.

For The Marriage Bed Ordained By Fate For Men And Women Is Stronger Than An Oath And Guarded By Justice.

Bonds And The Pangs Of Hunger Are Excellent Prophet Doctors For The Wits.

Unjustly Men Hate Death, Which Is The Greatest Defence Against Their Many Ills.