By Turns The Nine Delight To Sing

But You Can't Stop At One, You Wanna Drink Another Woman!

It Is Entirely Seemly For A Young Man Killed In Battle To Lie Mangled By The Bronze Spear. In His Death All Things Appear Fair.

And Endless Are The Modes Of Speech, And Far Extends From Side To Side The Field Of Words.

Fear, O Achilles, The Wrath Of Heaven; Think On Your Own Father And Have Compassion Upon Me, Who Am The More Pitiable

It [revenge] Is Sweeter Far Than Flowing Honey.