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A wise son makes a father glad, but a foolish son is a sorrow to his mother.
For the poison of hatred seated near the heart doubles the burden for the one who suffers the disease; he is burdened with his own sorrow, and groans on seeing another's happiness.
Sorrow with me, Sorrowful one! Tell me, whose voice proclaims Things true and sad, Naming by all their old, unhappy names, What drove me mad--