And Now I'm Using Sarcasm, To Confess

The Rule Of The Many Is Not Well. One Must Be Chief In War And One The King.

I Don't Know How Much Longer I Can Complain.

And His Good Wife Will Tear Her Cheeks In Grief, His Sons Are Orphans And He, Soaking The Soil Red With His Own Blood, He Rots Away Himself-more Birds Than Women Flocking Round His Body!

A Generation Of Men Is Like A Generation Of Leaves; The Wind Scatters Some Leaves Upon The Ground, While Others The Burgeoning Wood Brings Forth - And The Season Of Spring Comes On. So Of Men One Generation Springs Forth And Another Ceases.

What Mighty Woes To Thy Imperial Race From Woman Rose.