Being Eaten By A Crocodile Is Just

The Lot Of Man-to Suffer And Die.

I Wish That Strife Would Vanish Away From Among Gods And Mortals, And Gall, Which Makes A Man Grow Angry For All His Great Mind, That Gall Of Anger That Swarms Like Smoke Inside Of A Man's Heart And Becomes A Thing Sweeter To Him By Far Than The Dripping Of Honey.

Shame Is No Comrade For The Poor, I Weet.

Now Deep In Ocean Sunk The Lamp Of Light, And Drew Behind The Cloudy Vale Of Night.

Men Grow Tired Of Sleep, Love, Singing And Dancing Sooner Than Of War.