With our own feathers, not by others' hands, Are we now smitten.

And though all streams flow from a single course to cleanse the blood from polluted hand, they hasten on their course in vain.

The will was of Zeus, the hand of Hephaestus.

There is no disgrace in an enemy suffering ill at an enemy's hand, when you hate mutually.

For sufferers it is sweet to know before-hand clearly the pain that still remains for them.

The cure is in the house, not brought by other hands from distant places, but by its own, in agony and blood.

With our own feathers, not by others' hands,