A Young Man Is Embarrassed To Question

Not Vain The Weakest, If Their Force Unite.

Proud Is The Spirit Of Zeus-fostered Kings - Their Honor Comes From Zeus, And Zeus, God Of Council, Loves Them.

Close To The Gates A Spacious Garden Lies, From The Storms Defended And Inclement Skies; Four Acres Was The Allotted Space Of Ground, Fenc'd With A Green Enclosure All Around. Tall Thriving Trees Confessed The Fruitful Mold: The Reddening Apple Ripens Here To Gold, Here The Blue Fig With Luscious Juice Overflows, With Deeper Red The Full Pomegranate Glows, The Branch Here Bends Beneath The Weighty Pear, And Verdant Olives Flourish Round The Year.

That Is The Gods' Work, Spinning Threads Of Death Through The Lives Of Mortal Men, An All To Make A Song For Those To Come.

Do Thou Restrain The Haughty Spirit In Thy Breast, For Better Far Is Gentle Courtesy.