I Have Learned To Hate All Traitors,

Ares Ever Loves To Pluck All The Fairest Flower Of An Armed Host.

Fear Hurries On My Tongue Through Want Of Courage.

For Hostile Word Let Hostile Word Be Paid.

Arrogance Is Truly The Child Of Impiety, But From Health Of Soul Comes Happiness, Dear To All, Much Prayed For.

Of All The Gods, Death Only Craves Not Gifts: Nor Sacrifice, Nor Yet Drink-offering Poured Avails; No Altars Hath He, Nor Is Soothed By Hymns Of Praise. From Him Alone Of All The Powers Of Heaven Persuasion Holds Aloof.