Which Would You Rather Be, A Conqueror

Look At Me! I'm A Puffy Pink Cloud!

And His Good Wife Will Tear Her Cheeks In Grief, His Sons Are Orphans And He, Soaking The Soil Red With His Own Blood, He Rots Away Himself-more Birds Than Women Flocking Round His Body!

But You, Achilles,/ There Is Not A Man In The World More Blest Than You--/ There Never Has Been, Never Will Be One./ Time Was, When You Were Alive, We Argives/ Honored You As A God, And Now Down Here, I See/ You Lord It Over The Dead In All Your Power./ So Grieve No More At Dying, Great Achilles.’ I Reassured The Ghost, But He Broke Out Protesting,/ ‘no Winning Words About Death To Me, Shining Odysseus!/ By God, I’d Rather Slave On Earth For Another Man--/ Some Dirt-poor Tenant Farmer Who Scrapes To Keep Alive—than Rule Down Here Over All The Breathless Dead.

You Will Certainly Not Be Able To Take The Lead In All Things Yourself, For To One Man A God Has Given Deeds Of War, And To Another The Dance, To Another Lyre And Song, And In Another Wide-sounding Zeus Puts A Good Mind.

And For Yourself, May The Gods Grant You Your Heart's Desire, A Husband And A Home, And The Blessing Of A Harmonious Life. For Nothing Is Greater Or Finer Than This, When A Man And Woman Live Together With One Hear And Mind, Bringing Joy To Their Friends And Grief To Their Foes.