"Zorak’s Revenge" by Unknown Writer (in English)

art by Dan Spiegle - Space Ghost #1 – Gold Key, 1966.

"Ecclesiastes" (Chapter IV) by Qoheleth (in English)

Chapter 4

1 Again I considered all the oppressions that take place under the sun: the tears of the victims with none to comfort them! From the hand of their oppressors comes violence, and there is none to comfort them! 2 And those now dead, I declared more fortunate in death than are the living to be still alive. 3 And better off than both is the yet unborn, who has not seen the wicked work that is done under the sun. 4 Then I saw that all toil and skilful work is the rivalry of one man for another. This also is vanity and a chase after wind.

5 "The fool folds his arms

and consumes his own flesh" -

6 Better is one handful with tranquillity

than two with toil and a chase after wind!

7 Again I found this vanity under the sun: 8 a solitary man with no companion; with neither son nor brother. Yet there is no end to all his toil, and riches do not satisfy his greed. "For whom do I toil and deprive myself of good things?" This also is vanity and a worthless task.

9 Two are better than one: they get a good wage for their labor. 10 If the one falls, the other will lift up his companion. Woe to the solitary man! For if he should fall, he has no one to lift him up. 11 So also, if two sleep together, they keep each other warm. How can one alone keep warm? 12 Where a lone man may be overcome, two together can resist. A three-ply cord is not easily broken.

13 Better is a poor but wise youth than

an old but foolish king

who no longer knows caution; 14 for from a prison house one comes forth to rule, since even in his royalty he was poor at birth. 15 Then I saw all those who are to live and move about under the sun with the heir apparent who will succeed to his place. 16 There is no end to all these people, to all over whom he takes precedence; yet the later generations will not applaud him. This also is vanity and a chase after wind.

17 Guard your step when you go to the house of God. Let your approach be obedience, rather than the fools' offering of sacrifice; for they know not how to keep from doing evil.

"Manifestatis Probatum" by Pope Alexander III (in Portuguese)

     "Alexandre, Bispo, Servo dos Servos de Deus, ao Caríssimo filho em Cristo, Afonso, Ilustre Rei dos Portugueses, e a seus herdeiros, in 'perpetuum'. Está claramente demonstrado que, como bom filho e príncipe católico, prestaste inumeráveis serviços a tua mãe, a Santa Igreja, exterminando intrepidamente em porfiados trabalhos e proezas militares os inimigos do nome cristão e propagando diligentemente a fé cristã, assim deixaste aos vindouros nome digno de memória e exemplo merecedor de imitação. Deve a Sé Apostólica amar com sincero afecto e procurar atender eficazmente, em suas justas súplicas, os que a Providência divina escolheu para governo e salvação do povo. Por isso, Nós, atendemos às qualidades de prudência, justiça e idoneidade de governo que ilustram a tua pessoa, tomamo-la sob a proteção de São Pedro e nossa, e concedemos e confirmamos por autoridade apostólica ao teu excelso domínio o reino de Portugal com inteiras honras de reino e a dignidade que aos reis pertence, bem como todos os lugares que com o auxílio da graça celeste conquistaste das mãos dos Sarracenos e nos quais não podem reivindicar direitos os vizinhos príncipes cristãos. E para que mais te fervores em devoção e serviço ao príncipe dos apóstolos S. Pedro e à Santa Igreja de Roma, decidimos fazer a mesma concessão a teus herdeiros e, com a ajuda de Deus, prometemos defender-lha, quanto caiba em nosso apóstolico magistério."

Sonnet X by William Shakespeare (in English)

For shame deny that thou bear'st love to any,

Who for thy self art so unprovident.

Grant, if thou wilt, thou art beloved of many,

But that thou none lov'st is most evident:

For thou art so possessed with murderous hate,

That 'gainst thy self thou stick'st not to conspire,

Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate

Which to repair should be thy chief desire.

O! change thy thought, that I may change my mind:

Shall hate be fairer lodged than gentle love?

Be, as thy presence is, gracious and kind,

Or to thyself at least kind-hearted prove:

   Make thee another self for love of me,

   That beauty still may live in thine or thee.

"Job" by Raimundo Correia (in English)

Quem vai passando, sinta

Nojo embora, ali pára. Ao princípio era um só;

Depois dez, vinte, trinta

Mulheres e homens... tudo a contemplar o Job.

Qual fixa boquiaberto;

Qual à distância vê; qual se aproxima altivo,

Para olhar mais de perto

Esse pântano humano, esse monturo vivo.

Grossa turba o rodeia...

E o que mais horroriza é vê-lo a mendigar,

E ninguém ter a idéia

De um só vintém às mãos roídas lhe atirar!

Não! Nem ver que a indigência

Em pasto o muda já de vermes; e lhe impera,

Na imunda florescência

Do corpo, a podridão em plena primavera;

Nem ver sobre ele, em bando,

Os moscardos cruéis de ríspidos ferrões,

Incômodos, cantando

A música feral das decomposições;

Nem ver que, entre os destroços

De seus membros, a Morte, em blasfêmias e pragas,

Descarnando-lhe os ossos,

Os dentes mostra a rir, pelas bocas das chagas;

Nem ver que só o escasso

Roto andrajo, onde a lepra horrível que lhe prui

Mal se encobre, e o pedaço

De telha, com que a raspa, o mísero possui;

Nem do vento às rajadas

Ver-lhe os farrapos vis da roupa flutuante,

Voando—desfraldadas

Bandeiras da miséria imensa e triunfante!

Nem ver... Job agoniza!

Embora; isso não é o que horroriza mais.

—O que mais horroriza

São a falsa piedade, os fementidos ais;

São os consolos fúteis

Da turba que o rodeia, e as palavras fingidas,

Mais baixas, mais inúteis

Do que a língua dos cães, lambendo-lhe as feridas;

Da turba que se, odienta,

Com a pata brutal do seu orgulho vão

Não nos magoa, inventa,

Para nos magoar, a sua compaixão!

Se há, entre a luz e a treva,

Um termo médio, e em tudo há um ponto mediano,

É triste que não deva

Haver isso também no coração humano!

Porque n'alma não há de

Um meio termo haver dessa gente também,

Entre a inveja e a piedade?

Pois tem piedade só, quando inveja não tem!

"The Hunting Of The Snark an Agony in Eight Fits" by Lewis Carroll (Fit the Fifth) (in English)

                      Fit the Fifth

                   THE BEAVER'S LESSON

     They sought it with thimbles, they sought it with care;

          They pursued it with forks and hope;

     They threatened its life with a railway-share;

          They charmed it with smiles and soap.

     Then the Butcher contrived an ingenious plan

          For making a separate sally;

     And had fixed on a spot unfrequented by man,

          A dismal and desolate valley.

     But the very same plan to the Beaver occurred:

          It had chosen the very same place:

     Yet neither betrayed, by a sign or a word,

          The disgust that appeared in his face.

     Each thought he was thinking of nothing but "Snark"

          And the glorious work of the day;

     And each tried to pretend that he did not remark

          That the other was going that way.

     But the valley grew narrow and narrower still,

          And the evening got darker and colder,

     Till (merely from nervousness, not from goodwill)

          They marched along shoulder to shoulder.

     Then a scream, shrill and high, rent the shuddering sky,

          And they knew that some danger was near:

     The Beaver turned pale to the tip of its tail,

          And even the Butcher felt queer.

     He thought of his childhood, left far far behind—

          That blissful and innocent state—

     The sound so exactly recalled to his mind

          A pencil that squeaks on a slate!

     "'Tis the voice of the Jubjub!" he suddenly cried.

          (This man, that they used to call "Dunce.")

     "As the Bellman would tell you," he added with pride,

          "I have uttered that sentiment once.

     "'Tis the note of the Jubjub! Keep count, I entreat;

          You will find I have told it you twice.

     'Tis the song of the Jubjub! The proof is complete,

          If only I've stated it thrice."

     The Beaver had counted with scrupulous care,

          Attending to every word:

     But it fairly lost heart, and outgrabe in despair,

          When the third repetition occurred.

     It felt that, in spite of all possible pains,

          It had somehow contrived to lose count,

     And the only thing now was to rack its poor brains

          By reckoning up the amount.

     "Two added to one—if that could but be done,"

          It said, "with one's fingers and thumbs!"

     Recollecting with tears how, in earlier years,

          It had taken no pains with its sums.

     "The thing can be done," said the Butcher, "I think.

          The thing must be done, I am sure.

     The thing shall be done!  Bring me paper and ink,

          The best there is time to procure."

     The Beaver brought paper, portfolio, pens,

          And ink in unfailing supplies:

     While strange creepy creatures came out of their dens,

          And watched them with wondering eyes.

     So engrossed was the Butcher, he heeded them not,

          As he wrote with a pen in each hand,

     And explained all the while in a popular style

          Which the Beaver could well understand.

     "Taking Three as the subject to reason about—

          A convenient number to state—

     We add Seven, and Ten, and then multiply out

          By One Thousand diminished by Eight.

     "The result we proceed to divide, as you see,

          By Nine Hundred and Ninety Two:

     Then subtract Seventeen, and the answer must be

          Exactly and perfectly true.

     "The method employed I would gladly explain,

          While I have it so clear in my head,

     If I had but the time and you had but the brain—

          But much yet remains to be said.

     "In one moment I've seen what has hitherto been

          Enveloped in absolute mystery,

     And without extra charge I will give you at large

          A Lesson in Natural History."

     In his genial way he proceeded to say

          (Forgetting all laws of propriety,

     And that giving instruction, without introduction,

          Would have caused quite a thrill in Society),

     "As to temper the Jubjub's a desperate bird,

          Since it lives in perpetual passion:

     Its taste in costume is entirely absurd—

          It is ages ahead of the fashion:

     "But it knows any friend it has met once before:

          It never will look at a bribe:

     And in charity-meetings it stands at the door,

          And collects—though it does not subscribe.

     "Its' flavour when cooked is more exquisite far

          Than mutton, or oysters, or eggs:

     (Some think it keeps best in an ivory jar,

          And some, in mahogany kegs:)

     "You boil it in sawdust: you salt it in glue:

          You condense it with locusts and tape:

     Still keeping one principal object in view—

          To preserve its symmetrical shape."

     The Butcher would gladly have talked till next day,

          But he felt that the lesson must end,

     And he wept with delight in attempting to say

          He considered the Beaver his friend.

     While the Beaver confessed, with affectionate looks

          More eloquent even than tears,

     It had learned in ten minutes far more than all books

          Would have taught it in seventy years.

     They returned hand-in-hand, and the Bellman, unmanned

          (For a moment) with noble emotion,

     Said "This amply repays all the wearisome days

          We have spent on the billowy ocean!"

     Such friends, as the Beaver and Butcher became,

          Have seldom if ever been known;

     In winter or summer, 'twas always the same—

          You could never meet either alone.

     And when quarrels arose—as one frequently finds

          Quarrels will, spite of every endeavour—

     The song of the Jubjub recurred to their minds,

          And cemented their friendship for ever!

"Dirty Job" by Bob Haney (in English)

art by Alex Toth

Our Army at War #241 – DC Comics, February 1972.