In The Sinews Of The

You Have Been Trapped In The Inescapable Net Of Ruin By Your Own Want Of Sense.

On Me The Tempest Falls. It Does Not Make Me Tremble. O Holy Mother Earth, O Air And Sun, Behold Me. I Am Wronged.

A Great Ox Stands On My Tongue.

But I Will Place This Carefully Fed Pig Within The Crackling Oven; And, I Pray, What Nicer Dish Can E'er Be Given To Man.

Wrong Must Not Win By Technicalities.