Charaxos and Larichos

Express out loud whatever you like about Charaxos,

that is an individual with a fat-bellied transport

continuously in some port or other.

What does Zeus mind, or the remainder of his posse?

Presently you'd like me kneeling down,

shouting out to Hera, "Blah, blah, blah,

bring him home protected and liberated from moles,"

or on the other hand rambling, "Wah, wah, wah, much obliged,

much thanks to you, for relieving my liver condition."

For hell's sake, divine beings do what they like.

They call down typhoons with a murmur

or on the other hand ship off a tidal wave the manner in which you would an affection letter.

In the event that they have an impulse, they make a few cohorts

fix it up, similar to those nitwits in the Iliad.

A puff of smoke, a little haze, away goes the legend,

it's cheerfully ever later. Concerning Larichos,

that lay-a-bed lives for the cushion. On the off chance that for once

he'd get off his butt, he could make a big deal about himself.

Then from that smelling sewer of my life

I could pull up a pail of spring water.