Making It A Valid Law

O Death The Healer, Scorn Thou Not, I Pray, To Come To Me: Of Cureless Ills Thou Art The One Physician. Pain Lays Not Its Touch Upon A Corpse.

Whenever A Man Makes Haste, God Too Hastens With Him.

The Will Was Of Zeus, The Hand Of Hephaestus.

The Gods At Will Can Shape A Gladder Strain, And From The Lamentations At The Graveside, A Song Of Triumph May Arise.

Ask The Gods Nothing Excessive.