It is easy when we are in prosperity to give advice to the afflicted.
Death is better, a milder mover; for what thing without Zeus is done among mortals?
Of all the gods, Death only craves not gifts: Nor sacrifice, nor yet drink-offering poured Avails; no altars hath he, nor is soothed By hymns of praise. From him alone of all The powers of heaven Persuasion holds aloof.
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.
Destiny waits alike for the free man as well as for him enslaved by another's might.
So in the Libyan fable it is told That once an eagle, stricken with a dart, Said, when he saw the fashion of the shaft, 'With our own feathers, not by others' hands, Are we now smitten.'
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