Wine Loved I Deeply, Dice

Here Come The Lovers, Full Of Joy And Mirth.— Joy, Gentle Friends! Joy And Fresh Days Of Love Accompany Your Hearts!

The Wounds Invisible That Love's Keen Arrows Make.

Ambition, The Soldier's Virtue, Rather Makes Choice Of Loss, Than Gain Which Darkens Him.

What Win I, If I Gain The Thing I Seek? A Dream, A Breath, A Froth Of Fleeting Joy. Who Buys A Minute's Mirth To Wail A Week? Or Sells Eternity To Get A Toy? For One Sweet Grape Who Will The Vine Destroy? Or What Fond Beggar, But To Touch The Crown, Would With The Sceptre Straight Be Strucken Down?

In Love The Heavens Themselves Do Guide The State; Money Buys Lands, And Wives Are Sold By Fate.