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British king in the pre-Roman era divides his kingdom into equal parts to provide dowries for his three daughters. Two daughters, Regan
When usurers count their gold outdoors, With
Your eyes are in a deep, dark hole, your purse is light, yet you see how this world works.
When friends have lost their friends, A cause, though just, till passions cool, is cursed By those that feel its sting.
life's so sweet We'd rather feel the pain of death each hour Than die at once—I
We must accept the weight of this sad day, Voice what we feel, not what we ought to say. The oldest bore the most; we who are young Will never see so much, nor live so long.
