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The bee is enclosed, and shines preserved, in a tear of the sisters of Phaeton, so that it seems enshrined in its own nectar. It has obtained a worthy reward for its great toils we may suppose that the bee itself would have desired such a death.

Martial

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She grieves sincerely who grieves unseen.
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He who writes distichs, wishes, I suppose, to please by brevity. But, tell me, of what avail is their brevity, when there is a whose book full of them?
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You complain, friend Swift, of the length of my epigrams, but you yourself write nothing. Yours are shorter.
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