Womankind Is ever a fickle and a changeful thing.
Such is the love of praise, so great the anxiety for victory.
The hour is ripe, and yonder lies the way.
Trust not the horse, O Trojans. Be it what it may, I fear the Grecians even when they offer gifts.
Perhaps the day may come when we shall remember these sufferings with joy.
Is it then so sad a thing to die?