Ares Gives His Verdict Without Witnesses.

But Let The Good Prevail.

Chorus: Zeus, Who Guided Men To Think Who Laid It Down That Wisdom Comes Alone Through Suffering. Still There Drips In Sleep Against The Heart Grief Of Memory; Against Our Pleasure We Are Temperate.

In Visions Of The Night, Like Dropping Rain, Descend The Many Memories Of Pain.

The So-called Mother Of The Child Isn't The Child's Begetter, But Only A Sort Of Nursing Soil For The New-sown Seed. The Man, The One On Top, Is The True Parent, While She, A Stranger, Foster's A Stranger's Sprout.

Bronze Is The Mirror Of Form, Wine Of The Heart.