Everyone Is Ready To Speak Ill Of

Misfortune Wandering The Same Track Lights Now Upon One And Now Upon Another.

Sweet Is A Grief Well Ended.

Ah, Lives Of Men! When Prosperous They Glitter - Like A Fair Picture; When Misfortune Comes - A Wet Sponge At One Blow Has Blurred The Painting.

For Hades Is Mighty In Calling Men To Account Below The Earth, And With A Mind That Records In Tablets He Surveys All Things.

O Death The Healer, Scorn Thou Not, I Pray, To Come To Me: Of Cureless Ills Thou Art The One Physician. Pain Lays Not Its Touch Upon A Corpse.