For Love Deceives The Best Of Woman

Ah How Shameless – The Way These Mortals Blame The Gods. From Us Alone They Say Come All Their Miseries Yes But They Themselves With Their Own Reckless Ways Compound Their Pains Beyond Their Proper Share.

You, Why Are You So Afraid Of War And Slaughter? Even If All The Rest Of Us Drop And Die Around You, Grappling For The Ships, You’d Run No Risk Of Death: You Lack The Heart To Last It Out In Combat—coward!

The Glorious Gifts Of The Gods Are Not To Be Cast Aside.

Far From Me Be The Gift Of Bacchus--pernicious, Inflaming Wine, That Weakens Both Body And Mind.

No Season Now For Calm, Familiar Talk.