I call to Tyche, friend of the Fates, mistress
of fair fortune who holds the rudder of all ships,
who bears the shining horn of Amalthea,
who wears the mural crown, whose face was graven
upon gold, tossed in the air when a choice need be made.
In times of old men named you Eutykhia;
they threw the dice with eyes tight shut and trusted
in your goodness. I call to you, Eutykhia,
I pray to you, O goddess, grant to me the good.