Heigh-dy! Heigh-dy! Misery me, lack-a-day-dee! He sipped no sup, and he craved no crumb, As he sighed for the love of a ladye! - W. S. Gilbert

Oh, philosophers may sing
Of the troubles of a King,
But of pleasures there are many and of worries there are none;
And the culminating pleasure
That we treasure beyond measure
Is the gratifying feeling that our duty has been done.

My eyes are fully open to my awful situation, I shall go at once to Roderic and make him an oration,
I shall tell him I've recovered my forgotten moral senses, and I don't care tuppence ha'penny for any consequences.
Now I do not want to perish by the sword or by the dagger, but a martyr may indulge a little pardonable swagger
And a word or two of compliment my vanity would flatter, but I've got to die to-morrow, so it really doesn't matter!

I should have preferred to ride through the streets of Venice; but owing, I presume, to an unusually wet season, the streets are in such a condition that equestrian exercise is impractical.