Many Among Men Are They

For Somehow This Is Tyranny's Disease, To Trust No Friends.

Watchful Are The Gods Of All Hands With Slaughter Stained. The Black Furies Wait, And When A Man Has Grown By Luck, Not Justice, Great, With Sudden Overturn Of Chance They Wear Him To A Shade, And, Cast Down To Perdition, Who Shall Save Him?

Pleasantest Of All Ties Is The Tie Of Host And Guest.

When A Man Takes The Road To Destruction, The Gods Help Him Along.

Nothing Forces Us To Know What We Do Not Want To Know Except Pain