Zeus it seems has given us from youth to old age a nice ball of wool to wind-nothing but wars upon wars until we shall perish every one.

You ought not to practice childish ways, since you are no longer that age.

Now from his breast into the eyes the ache of longing mounted, and he wept at last, his dear wife, clear and faithful, in his arms, longed for as the sunwarmed earth is longed for by a swimmer spent in rough water where his ship went down under Poseidon's blows, gale winds and tons of sea. Few men can keep alive through a big serf to crawl, clotted with brine, on kindly beaches in joy, in joy, knowing the abyss behind: and so she too rejoiced, her gaze upon her husband, her white arms round him pressed as though forever.

Without a sign, his sword the brave man draws, and asks no omen, but his country's cause.

Wine can of their wits the wise beguile, Make the sage frolic, and the serious smile

The natural thing, my lord, men and women joined.

It is tedious to tell again tales already plainly told.