Arrogance Is Truly The Child Of Impiety,

So In The Libyan Fable It Is Told That Once An Eagle, Stricken With A Dart, Said, When He Saw The Fashion Of The Shaft: With Our Own Feathers, Not By Others' Hands, Are We Now Smitten.

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.

What Is There More Kindly Than The Feeling Between Host And Guest?

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

The Saying Goes That The Gods Leave A Town Once It Is Captured.