By Turns The Nine Delight To Sing

Boy, Everyone Is Stupid Except Me.

Two Urns On Jove's High Throne Have Ever Stood, The Source Of Evil One, And One Of Good; From Thence The Cup Of Mortal Man He Fills, Blessings To These, To Those Distributes Ills; To Most He Mingles Both.

The Life, Which Others Pay, Let Us Bestow, And Give To Fame What We To Nature Owe.

A Generation Of Men Is Like A Generation Of Leaves; The Wind Scatters Some Leaves Upon The Ground, While Others The Burgeoning Wood Brings Forth - And The Season Of Spring Comes On. So Of Men One Generation Springs Forth And Another Ceases.

It Was Built Against The Will Of The Immortal Gods, And So It Did Not Last For Long.