The Little Done Doth Vanish To The

Oh, Trebly Blest The Placid Lot Of Those Whose Hearth Foundations Are In Pure Love Laid, Where Husband's Breast With Tempered Ardor Glows, And Wife, Oft Mother, Is In Heart A Maid!

For No Mortal Ever Attains To Blessedness. One May Be Luckier Than Another When Wealth Flows His Way, But Blessed Never.

I Know Indeed What Evil I Intend To Do, But Stronger Than All My Afterthoughts Is My Fury, Fury That Brings Upon Mortals The Greatest Evils.

Silence Is True Wisdom's Best Reply.

Soon All Of You Immortals Will Be As Dead As We Are! Come On Then, What Are You Waiting For? Have You Run Out Of Thunderbolts?