I pray the gods some respite from the weary task of this long year's watch that lying on the Atreidae's roof on bended arm, dog- like, I have kept, marking the conclave of all night's stars, those potentates blazing in the heavens that bring winter and summer to mortal men, the constellations, when they wane, when they rise.

Simple is the speech of truth.

To mourn and bewail your ill-fortune, when you will gain a tear from those who listen, this is worth the trouble.

. . . it is yours women's to be silent and stay within doors.

For there is no defense for a man who, in the excess of his wealth, has kicked the great altar of Justice out of sight.

For the lips of Zeus do not know how to lie, but bring to fulfilment every word.

When a tongue fails to send forth appropriate shafts, there might be a word to act as healer of these.