It Behooves A Father To Be Blameless

The Bitter Dregs Of Fortune's Cup To Drain.

I'll Get Out Of This City Alive, Even If It Kills Me!

...if Fifty Bands Of Men Surrounded Us/ And Every Sword Sang For Your Blood,/ You Could Make Off Still With Their Cows And Sheep.

Think Not To Match Yourself Against The Gods, For Men That Walk The Earth Cannot Hold Their Own With The Immortals.

Strife, Only A Slight Thing When She First Rears Her Head But Her Head Soon Hits The Sky As She Strides Across The Earth.