Yet all men are constrainedTo love their fatherland; who saith not so,Sporteth with words, his heart is otherwhere. Phoenissae (-409)
When it befalls poor mortal men to love,Should they find worthy objects for their loving,Then is there nothing left of joy to long for.
To mate a youth with a young wife is ill;Seeing a man's strength lasteth, while the bloomOf beauty quickly leaves a woman's form.