And pays a debt by public curse incurred.And ever with me— as about to hearA something night-involved — remains my fear:Since of the many-slayers — notUnwatching are the gods.The black Erinues, at due periods —Whoever gains the lotOf fortune with no right —Him, by life’s strain and stressBack-again-beaten from success,They strike blind: and among the out-of-sightFor who has got to be, avails no might.The being praised outrageouslyIs grave, for at the eyes of such an oneIs launched, from Zeus, the thunder-stone.Therefore do I decideFor so much and no more prosperityThan 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 senseThat, having, at announcements of the flameThus 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: