To Labour Is The Lot Of Man

Each Man Delights In The Work That Suits Him Best.

Thou Shalt Not Take Moochers Into Thy Hut?

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

Noblest Minds Are Easiest Bent.

And His Good Wife Will Tear Her Cheeks In Grief, His Sons Are Orphans And He, Soaking The Soil Red With His Own Blood, He Rots Away Himself-more Birds Than Women Flocking Round His Body!