Our Fruitless Labours Mourn, And Only Rich

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

Not At All Similar Are The Race Of The Immortal Gods And The Race Of Men Who Walk Upon The Earth.

The Grecian Ladies Counted Their Age From Their Marriage, Not Their Birth.

Look Now How Mortals Are Blaming The Gods, For They Say That Evils Come From Us, But In Fact They Themselves Have Woes Beyond Their Share Because Of Their Own Follies.

By Jove The Stranger And The Poor Are Sent, And What To Those We Give, To Jove Is Lent.