Obedience, You Know, Is Good Luck's Mother,

There Is No Disgrace In An Enemy Suffering Ill At An Enemy's Hand, When You Hate Mutually.

Whoever Is Just Willingly And Without Compulsion Will Not Lack Happiness; He Will Never Be Utterly Destroyed.

For The Poison Of Hatred Seated Near The Heart Doubles The Burden For The One Who Suffers The Disease; He Is Burdened With His Own Sorrow, And Groans On Seeing Another's Happiness.

But When The Dust Has Drunk The Blood Of Men, No Resurrection Comes For One Who's Dead.

A Man Dies Not For The Many Wounds That Pierce His Breast, Unless It Be That Life's End Keep Pace With Death, Nor By Sitting On His Hearth At Home Doth He The More Escape His Appointed Doom.