Tell Me, O Muse, Of Travellers Far

The Charity That Is A Trifle To Us Can Be Precious To Others.

Close To The Gates A Spacious Garden Lies, From The Storms Defended And Inclement Skies; Four Acres Was The Allotted Space Of Ground, Fenc'd With A Green Enclosure All Around. Tall Thriving Trees Confessed The Fruitful Mold: The Reddening Apple Ripens Here To Gold, Here The Blue Fig With Luscious Juice Overflows, With Deeper Red The Full Pomegranate Glows, The Branch Here Bends Beneath The Weighty Pear, And Verdant Olives Flourish Round The Year.

The Only Monster Here Is The Gambling Monster That Has Enslaved Your Mother, And I Call Him Gamblor!

Noble And Manly Music Invigorates The Spirit, Strengthens The Wavering Man, And Incites Him To Great And Worthy Deeds.

Thus Have The Gods Spun The Thread For Wretched Mortals: That They Live In Grief While They Themselves Are Without Cares; For Two Jars Stand On The Floor Of Zeus Of The Gifts Which He Gives, One Of Evils And Another Of Blessings.