And pays a debt by public curse incurred. And ever with me— as about to hear A something night-involved — remains my fear: Since of the many-slayers — not Unwatching are the gods. The black Erinues, at due periods — Whoever gains the lot Of fortune with no right — Him, by life’s strain and stress Back-again-beaten from success, They strike blind: and among the out-of-sight For who has got to be, avails no might. The being praised outrageously Is grave, for at the eyes of such an one Is launched, from Zeus, the thunder-stone. Therefore do I decide For so much and no more prosperity Than of his envy passes unespied. Neither a city-sacker would I be, Nor life, myself by others captive, see.
 A swift report has gone our city through, From fire, the good-news messenger: if true, Who knows? Or is it not a god-sent lie? Who is so childish and deprived of sense That, having, at announcements of the flame Thus novel, felt his own heart fired thereby, He then shall at a change of evidence, Be worsted just the same? It is conspicuous in a woman’s nature, Before its view to take a grace for granted: