Let us hide the dreadful gifts of lord Poseidon.

Glaukos, soldier of fortune, will be your friend until he begins to fight.

Father Lykambes, what is this new silliness?Are your natural brains wholly rotted?The neighbors laugh openly at your absurd lifeand you persist in chattering like a cricket.

All, O all the calamities of all the Hellenesare set loose on this battleground in Thasos.

Look, Glaukos, how heavy seawaves leap skyward!Over the Gyrai rocks hangs a black cloud,a signal of winter storm.From the unforseen comes fear.

When dead no man finds respect or glory from menof his town. Rather, we hope while alive for somefavor from the living. The dead are always scorned.

I live here miserable and broken with desire,pierced through to the bones by the bitternessof this god-given painful love.O comrade, this passion makes my limbs limpand tramples over me.

The gold booty of Gyges means nothing to me.I don't envy that Lydian king, nor am I jealous of what gods can do, nor of the tyrants' greatpowers. All these are realms beyond my vision.

Well, what if some barbaric Thracian gloriesin the perfect shield I left under a bush?I was sorry to leave it—but I saved my skin.Does it matter? O hell, I'll buy a better one.