High Fortune, This In Man's Eye Is

Nor Does Night Conceal Men's Deeds Of Ill, But Whatsoe'er Thou Dost, Think That Some God Beholds It.

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.

Old Men Are Always Young Enough To Learn With Profit.

For By The Will Of The Gods Fate Hath Held Sway Since Ancient Days.

Learning Is Ever In The Freshness Of Its Youth, Even For The Old.