I Hate To Tell Again A Tale

So, The Gods Don't Hand Out All Their Gifts At Once, Not Build And Brains And Flowing Speech To All. One Man May Fail To Impress Us With His Looks But A God Can Crown His Words With Beauty, Charm, And Men Look On With Delight When He Speaks Out. Never Faltering, Filled With Winning Self-control, He Shines Forth At Assembly Grounds And People Gaze At Him Like A God When He Walks Through The Streets. Another Man May Look Like A Deathless One On High But There's Not A Bit Of Grace To Crown His Words. Just Like You, My Fine, Handsome Friend.

Ruin, Eldest Daughter Of Zeus, She Blinds Us All, That Fatal Madness—she With Those Delicate Feet Of Hers, Never Touching The Earth, Gliding Over The Heads Of Men To Trap Us All. She Entangles One Man, Now Another.

The Windy Satisfaction Of The Tongue.

One Man Is A Splendid Fighter -- A God Has Made Him So -- One's A Dancer, Another Skilled At Lyre And Song, And Deep In The Next Man's Chest Farseeing Zeus Plants The Gift Of Judgment, Good Clear Sense. And Many Reap The Benefits Of That Treasure.

When You're In My House You Shall Do As I Do And Believe Who I Believe In. So Bart Butter Your Bacon.