There's a craze among us mortals, [284].
Weary of all this wordy strife, [279].
What makes a man great? [284].
What matter, friend, though you and I, [280]
When over the fair fame of friend, [285].
When the other firms show dizziness, [284].
Wherever now a sorrow stands, [287].
Why be afraid of Death, [279].
Why do we cling to the skirts of sorrow? [286].
You think them "out of reach," [281].