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Writer's pictureRabbi Who Has No Knife

The Demise of Bighead

Updated: Mar 3, 2021

"Cephalus: "... Not it may be to every man but to the good man. Not to cheat any man even unintentionally or play him false, not remaining in debt to a god for some sacrifice or to a man for money, so to depart in fear to that other world—to this result of property contributes not a little. It has also many other uses. But, setting one thing against another, I would lay it down, Socrates, that for a man of sense this is the chief service of wealth.”
"Socrates: Speaking of this very thing, justice, are we to affirm thus without qualification that it is truth-telling and paying back what one has received from anyone?"
(Plato's Republic, I 331b-c)


There was many a crime

Done at that time,

When Athens with Athens strove.


There was murder,

Abounding was plunder,

Sacrilege, oh gods above!


But of all these wrongs,

Let me sing the song

Of a man without kith,

For I shall never

Forget the last ember,

To light the furnace

Of Bighead the smith.



Amongst din and clash

Amidst fire and ash

Was he master and lord

Of workshop and money-board

Iron, fair silver and gold

His servants were,

Who commanded men

With hearts less warm

And reason less cold.


With brow ever-wreathed

Alike these gods

Who dwell beneath,

Hades, most gracious

Of all hosts,

who accept all men

Unto his house,

Or fiery Heiphaestus

The Olympian smith,

Unto his old shop,

Stepped Old Heady.


His flowing locks were

Glass-white, each hair

Shone as silver rare

As was ever delivered

From the womb

Of snow-capped Laurelion.


"Tell them" the master said,

As a man happy, contented,

"That the sacrifices

Were properly made,

That the omens

Were auspicious".


"Truthtelling had wealth

Afford me, ere these

Vultures, who in my death

Hope to grow rich, this

I will show, how a smith

Returneth that which

He hath been given".


To each slave

Liberty he gave

We that as graves

Thought their work-benches.


To each he gifted

Of Bronze well-wrought

A weapon and shield

Bravely emblazoned


His voice had a ring,

Of vengeance and malice

"Now it shall be seen

How we metics

As these very bees,

In death still can sting"


I have not seen,

How his shade

Was expelled

From his ruined body.


But no man spoke more truth

Or returned what he was given

Better, than my old master,

Smith Heady.



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