All Deaths Are Hateful To Miserable Mortals,

I Should Rather Labor As Another's Serf, In The Home Of A Man Without Fortune, One Whose Livelihood Was Meager, Than Rule Over All The Departed Dead.

Sing, O Muse, Of The Rage Of Achilles, Son Of Peleus, That Brought Countless Ills Upon The Achaeans.

Zeus It Seems Has Given Us From Youth To Old Age A Nice Ball Of Wool To Wind-nothing But Wars Upon Wars Until We Shall Perish Every One.

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No Trust Is To Be Placed In Women.