Ares Gives His Verdict Without Witnesses.

And One Who Is Just Of His Own Free Will Shall Not Lack For Happiness; And He Will Never Come To Utter Ruin.

Old Men, What Are They? Fast Fading The Leaf, Three-footed They Walk, Yet Frail As A Child, As A Dream Set Afloat In The Daylight.

On Him Who Wields Power Gently, The God Looks Favorably From Afar.

There Is No Disgrace In An Enemy Suffering Ill At An Enemy's Hand, When You Hate Mutually.

Watchful Are The Gods Of All Hands With Slaughter Stained. The Black Furies Wait, And When A Man Has Grown By Luck, Not Justice, Great, With Sudden Overturn Of Chance They Wear Him To A Shade, And, Cast Down To Perdition, Who Shall Save Him?