I Don't Know How Much Longer I

The Lot Of Man-to Suffer And Die.

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

For They Imagined As They Wished--that It Was A Wild Shot,/ An Unintended Killing--fools, Not To Comprehend/ They Were Already In The Grip Of Death./ But Glaring Under His Brows Odysseus Answered: 'you Yellow Dogs, You Thought I'd Never Make It/ Home From The Land Of Troy. You Took My House To Plunder,/ Twisted My Maids To Serve Your Beds. You Dared/ Bid For My Wife While I Was Still Alive./ Contempt Was All You Had For The Gods Who Rule Wide Heaven,/ Contempt For What Men Say Of You Hereafter./ Your Last Hour Has Come. You Die In Blood.

When You're In My House You Shall Do As I Do And Believe Who I Believe In. So Bart Butter Your Bacon.

It Is Equally Wrong To Speed A Guest Who Does Not Want To Go, And To Keep One Back Who Is Eager. You Ought To Make Welcome The Present Guest, And Send Forth The One Who Wishes To Go.