There Is No Fouler Fiend Than A

Accept These Grateful Tears...for Thee They Flow, For Thee... That Ever Felt Another's Woe.

Bad Herdsmen Waste The Flocks Which Thou Hast Left Behind.

Restrain Yourself... And Gloat In Silence. I'll Have No Jubilation Here. It Is An Impious Thing To Exult Over The Slain.

The Gods, Likening Themselves To All Kinds Of Strangers, Go In Various Disguises From City To City, Observing The Wrongdoing And The Righteousness Of Men.

Wise To Resolve, And Patient To Perform.