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Thrice happy they, who, having seen these rites,

Then pass to Hades: there to these alone

Is granted life, all others evil find.

What may be taught I learn; what may be found

That I still seek for; what must come by prayer,

For that I asked the Gods.

Go forth, ye people strong of hand, to work,

Who with your balanced baskets of first-fruits

Worship the Working Goddess, child of Zeus,

Whose eyes are dread to look on.

And dost thou mourn the death of mortal man,

Not knowing if the future bringeth gain?

Thou waxest wanton, like a high-fed colt;

For maw and mouth are glutted with excess.

Searching out all things, thou in most men's acts

Wilt find but baseness.

Unlooked for things must once for all begin.

Those who lose such friends lose them to their joy,

And they who have them for deliverance pray.

This is the gift of God, and what the Gods

Shall give, we men, my child, should never shun.

An old man's wrath is like ill-tempered scythe,

Sharp to begin, but quickly blunted off.