I Would Rather Be A Serf In

Come, Friend, You Too Must Die. Why Moan About It So? Even Patroclus Died, A Far, Far Better Man Than You. And Look, You See How Handsome And Powerful I Am? The Son Of A Great Man, The Mother Who Gave Me Life-- A Deathless Goddess. But Even For Me, I Tell You, Death And The Strong Force Of Fate Are Waiting. There Will Come A Dawn Or Sunset Or High Noon When A Man Will Take My Life In Battle Too-- Flinging A Spear Perhaps Or Whipping A Deadly Arrow Off His Bow.

It Never Was Our Guise To Slight The Poor, Or Aught Humane Despise.

By Their Own Follies They Perished, The Fools.

But Curb Thou The High Spirit In Thy Breast, For Gentle Ways Are Best, And Keep Aloof From Sharp Contentions.

To Labour Is The Lot Of Man Below; And When Jove Gave Us Life, He Gave Us Woe.