By Their Own Follies They Perished, The

Sing, O Muse, Of The Rage Of Achilles, Son Of Peleus, That Brought Countless Ills Upon The Achaeans.

Wine Give Strenght To Weary Men. And And Wine Can Of Their Wits The Wise Beguile. Make The Sage Frolic, And The Serious Smile. And Let Those Who Drink Not, But Austerely Dine, Dry Up In Law; The Muses Smell Of Wine. And No Poem Was Ever Written By A Drinker Of Water. And Bacchus Opens The Gate Of The Heart. And Might To Inspire New Hopes And Powerful To Drown The Bitterness Of Cares.

Oh, Look At Me! I'm Making People Happy! I'm The Magical Man From Happy-land, In A Gumdrop House On Lollipop Lane! Oh, By The Way, I Was Being Sarcastic.

It Is No Bad Thing To Be A King-to See One's House Enriched And One's Authority Enhanced.

She Threw Into The Wine Which They Were Drinking A Drug Which Takes Away Grief And Passion And Brings Forgetfulness Of All Ills