Tis on the living Envy feeds. She silent grows
When, after death, man's honor is his guard.
So I, when on the pyre consumed I lie,
Shall live, for all that's noblest will survive.
The dove, O hawk, that has once been wounded by thy talons, is frightened by the least movement of a wing.
[Lat., Terretur minimo pennae stridore columba
Unguibus, accipiter, saucia facta tuis.]