Quintus Horatius Flaccus

“ Wolves do not use their heel, nor bulls their tooth:
But deadly hemlock, mingled in the bowl
With honey, will take off the poor old soul.
Well, to be brief: whether old age await
My years, or Death e'en now be at the gate,
Wealthy or poor, at home or banished, still,
Whate'er my life's complexion, write I will.
T. Poor child! your life is hanging on a thread:
Some noble friend one day will freeze you dead. ”

“ Whene'er occasion comes to point the way.
Save at fit times, no words of mine can find
A way through Cæsar's ear to Cæsar's mind:
A mettled horse, if awkwardly you stroke,
Kicks out on all sides, and your leg is broke. ”

“ How threatens Turius? if he e'er should judge
A cause of yours, he'll bear you an ill grudge.
Each has his natural weapon, you'll agree,
If you will work the problem out with me:
Wolves use their tooth against you, bulls their horn ”