Uncontrollable Laughter Arose Among The Blessed Gods.

I, For One, Know Of No Sweeter Sight For A Man's Eyes Than His Own Country.

By Their Own Follies They Perished, The Fools.

Wine Can Of Their Wits The Wise Beguile, Make The Sage Frolic, And The Serious Smile

Thus Have The Gods Spun The Thread For Wretched Mortals: That They Live In Grief While They Themselves Are Without Cares; For Two Jars Stand On The Floor Of Zeus Of The Gifts Which He Gives, One Of Evils And Another Of Blessings.

And Endless Are The Modes Of Speech, And Far Extends From Side To Side The Field Of Words.