Ajax The Great Himself A Host.

The Leader, Mingling With The Vulgar Host, Is In The Common Mass Of Matter Lost.

Oh, My Tattered Rags Are Caught On Your Coffee Table.

What Greater Glory Attends A Man Than What He Wins With His Racing Feet And His Striving Hands?

Far From Me Be The Gift Of Bacchus--pernicious, Inflaming Wine, That Weakens Both Body And Mind.

Zeus Most Glorious And Most Great, Thundercloud, Throned In The Heavens! Let Not The Sun Go Down And The Darkness Come, Until I Cast Down Headlong The Citadel Of Priam In Flames, And Burn His Gates With Blazing Fire, And Tear To Rags The Shirt Upon Hectors Breast! May Many Of His Men Fall About Him Prone In The Dust And Bite The Earth!