Minerva
Since now unhappy, though to me a foe,
For in the chain of ruin he is bound.
And this respects his state not more than mine.
For all that live, I see, are nothing more
Than phantoms form'd of air, and shadows light.
Hast thou a sense of this? Against the gods
Utter no vaunt profane; nor swell with pride,
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More puissant if thy hand, or thy wealth rise
In ampler stores. All human things a day
In darkness sinks, a day to light restores.
The gods too love the sober, modest mind,
The arrogant and impious they abhor.
Ajax. Sophocles. Robert Potter (Translator). London. 1820.