Urge Him With Truth To Frame His

Rather I'd Choose Laboriously To Bear A Weight Of Woes, And Breathe The Vital Air, A Slave To Some Poor Hind That Toils For Bread, Than Reign The Sceptred Monarch Of The Dead.

Two Urns On Jove's High Throne Have Ever Stood, The Source Of Evil One, And One Of Good; From Thence The Cup Of Mortal Man He Fills, Blessings To These, To Those Distributes Ills; To Most He Mingles Both.

The Whims Of Youth Break All The Rules.

Proud Is The Spirit Of Zeus-fostered Kings - Their Honor Comes From Zeus, And Zeus, God Of Council, Loves Them.

I Too Shall Lie In The Dust When I Am Dead, But Now Let Me Win Noble Renown.