There Is No Fouler Fiend Than A

But He Whose Inborn Worth His Acts Commend, Of Gentle Soul, To Human Race A Friend.

My Life Is More To Me Than All The Wealth Of Ilius

By Jove The Stranger And The Poor Are Sent, And What To Those We Give, To Jove Is Lent.

Why So Much Grief For Me? No Man Will Hurl Me Down To Death, Against My Fate. And Fate? No One Alive Has Ever Escaped It, Neither Brave Man Nor Coward, I Tell You - It’s Born With Us The Day That We Are Born.

So It Is That The Gods Do Not Give All Men Gifts Of Grace - Neither Good Looks Nor Intelligence Nor Eloquence.