For bounty, that makes gods, does still mar men.

Striving to be better, oft we mar what's well.

A rarer spirit neverDid steer humanity; but you, gods, will give usSome faults to make us men.

Mind your speech a little lest you should mar your fortunes.

My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep. The more I give thee, the more I have, For both are infinite.

A dish fit for the gods.