A woman, when she leaves her father's home,
Belongs not to her parents, but her bed;
Men stay within the house, and stand for aye
Avengeful guardians of its shrines and graves.
Danaë, 330.
Who knows if that be life which we call death,
And life be dying?—save alone that men
Living bear grief, but when they yield their breath
They grieve no more and have no sorrow then.
Incert. Fab., 821.
'Twere well for men, when first a babe draws breath,
To meet and wail the woes that he must bear;
But to salute the soul that rests from care
With songs and pæans on the path of death.
Cresphontes, 454.
Let those who live do right ere death descendeth;
The dead are dust; mere naught to nothing tendeth.
Meleager, 537.