No-one is so savage that he cannot soften.
[Nemo adeo ferus est ut non mitescere possit.]
Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
(Attributed)
Quotations by:
Horace
To know all things is not permitted.
Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
(Attributed)
Adversity has the effect of eliciting talents, which in prosperous circumstances would have lain dormant.
Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
(Attributed)
A jest often decides matters of importance more effectively and happily than seriousness.
Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
(Attributed)
It is sweet to let the mind unbend on occasion.
Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
(Attributed)
He will always be a slave who does not know how to live upon a little.
Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
(Attributed)
Whatever advice you give, be short.
Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Ars Poetica (c. 18 BC)
Struggling to be brief
I become obscure.[Brevis esse laboro,
obscurus fio.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Ars Poetica, l. 25 (c. 18 BC)
Alt. trans.: "Aiming at brevity, I become obscure."
I am displeased when sometimes even the worthy Homer nods
[Indignor quandoque bonus dormitat Homerus]
Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Ars Poetica, l. 359 (c. 18 BC)
Source of the expression, "Even Homer nods" (i.e., nobody one is perfect, even the wisest make mistakes).
Be this your wall of brass — no secret sin,
To pale the cheek and rack the heart within![Hic murus aeneus esto,
nil conscire sibi, nulla pallescere culpa.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Epistles [Epistularum, Letters], Book 1, ep. 1 “To Maecenas”, l. 60ff (1.1.60-61) (20 BC) [tr. Martin (1881)]
(Source)
(Source (Latin)). Other translations:Not to be giltye or war wan at anye falte at all,
A bulwarke that, to beare all bruntes, be that the brasen wall.
[tr. Drant (1567)]Be this a wall of Brass, to have within
No black accuser, harbour no pale sin.
[tr. Fanshawe; ed. Brome (1666)]Be this thy Guard, and this thy strong defence,
A vertuous Heart, and unstain'd Innocence;
Not to be conscious of a shameful sin:
Nor yet look pale for Scarlet Crimes within.
[tr. Creech (1684)]True, conscious Honour is to feel no sin,
He ’s arm'd without that’s innocent within;
Be this thy Screen, and this thy Wall of Brass.
[tr. Pope (1737), ll. 93-95]Be this thy brazen bulwark of defence,
Still to preserve thy conscious innocence,
Nor e'er turn pale with guilt.
[tr. Francis (1747)]Be good, then, and be great;
This be your tower of strength, your throne of state;
To keep your heart unconscious of a sin,
And feel no goadings of remorse within!
[tr. Howes (1845)]Let this be a [man’s] brazen wall, to be conscious of no ill, to turn pale with no guilt.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]Be this your wall of brass, your coat of mail,
A guileless heart, a cheek no crime turns pale.
[tr. Conington (1874)]Let this be a wall of brass around you -- "Not to be conscious of crime, or of any fault which spreads paleness over the countenance."
[tr. Elgood (1893)]Be this our wall of bronze, to have no guilt at heart, no wrongdoing to turn us pale.
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]And this bronze wall should be ours: to let no shame
Steal across our faces, no guilt steal into our hearts.
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]Make this your barrier of bronze,
that no crime burdens you, no guilt has turned you pale.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]Let a man stand
Behind this bronze wall:
Never guilty,
Never pale with sin, and fear
Of sin.
[tr. Raffel (1983)]Let this be our defense: not to have any
Wrongdoing on our conscience to worry over.
[tr. Ferry (2001)]So let this be your wall of brass:
to have nothing on your conscience, nothing to give you a guilty pallor.
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]Let that be your wall of bronze,
To be free of guilt, with no wrongs to cause you pallor.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
And therefore all my trifling Songs adieu,
I now design to seek what’s good and true,
And that alone; I scorn my wanton Muse,
And lay up Precepts, such as I may use.[Nunc itaque et versus et cetera ludicra pono;
quid verum atque decens curo et rogo et omnis in hoc sum;
condo et compono quae mox depromere possim.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Epistles [Epistularum, Letters], Book 1, ep. 1, l. 10ff (1.1.10-12) (20 BC) [tr. Creech (1684)]
(Source)
This epistle was written when Horace was 45 and decided to quit writing lyric poetry, having finished his third book of Odes.
(Source (Latin)). Other translations:And therefore now I lay my rimes. and other toyes asyde
Devysing things of honestie, and therin holy byde.
That whych may serve to guide my selfe I muse uppon and make.
[tr. Drant (1567)]Therefore Love-songs, and all those toyes adieu,
My work is now to search what's good, what's true:
I lay in precepts, which I straight may draw
Out for my use.
[tr. Fanshawe; ed. Brome (1666)]Then here farewell the amusements of my youth:
Farewell to verses; for the search of truth
And moral decency hath fill'd my breast,
Hath every thought and faculty possest;
And I now form my philosophic lore,
For all my future life a treasur'd store.
[tr. Francis (1747)]Henceforth adieu then to the toys of youth!
Adieu to wit's light sport, and welcome truth!
To con the maxims of the good and wise,
To search where honour and where fitness lies,
Careful to store what after-life may need --
This be my task; for this is wealth indeed!
[tr. Howes (1845)]Now therefore I lay aside both verses, and all other sportive matters; my study and inquiry is after what is true and fitting, and I am wholly engaged in this: I lay up, and collect rules which I may be able hereafter to bring into use.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]So now I bid my idle songs adieu,
And turn my thoughts to what is right and true;
I search and search, and when I find, I lay
The wisdom up against a rainy day.
[tr. Conington (1874)]So verses now and all such toys I quit,
Work night and day to find the true and fit.
The lore of sages cull where'er I may.
And hive it up for use some future day.
[tr. Martin (1881)]Now, therefore, I resign verse composition and sportive measures. What is true and fitting I care for, and inquire about, and am absorbed in it. I am piling up and arranging what I may presently make public.
[tr. Elgood (1893)]So now I lay aside my verses and all other toys. What is right and seemly is my study and pursuit, and to that am I wholly given. I am putting by and setting in order the stores on which I may some day draw.
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]So I lay down my poems and other toys of my youth
To devote myself to one main subject: the truth.
What is right and honest? This I would like to know.
I am laying up stores, setting them all in a row,
Of the only thing that will keep on helping me grow.
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]So now I lay my verses down, and all my other games,
to study what is true and good, totally involved in that.
I gather and accumulate supplies that I'll soon use.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]So I've put away poetry
And other games. I study
Right and wrong. I store up,
Now, what someday I'll need, I lay
It all out.
[tr. Raffel (1983)]And so I'm giving up my verses and all
Other foolishness of the sort, and now
Devote myself entirely to the study
Of what is genuine and right for me,
Storing up what I learn for the sake of the future.
[tr. Ferry (2001)]So now I am laying aside my verses and other amusements.
My sole concern is the question "What is right and proper?"
I'm carefully storing things for use in the days ahead.
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]So now I’m setting aside my verse, and other tricks:
My quest and care is what’s right and true, I’m absorbed
In it wholly: I gather, then store for later use.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
In sharpness of vision you’re no match for Lynceus,
but you don’t despise ointment if you have sore eyes;
and though you’ll never match unbeaten Glycon’s strength,
you guard yourself against attacks of crippling gout.
We advance part way even if we can’t go further.[Non possis oculo quantum contendere Lynceus,
non tamen idcirco contemnas lippus inungui;
nec quia desperes invicti membra Glyconis,
nodosa corpus nolis prohibere cheragra.
Est quadam prodire tenus, si non datur ultra.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Epistles [Epistularum, Letters], Book 1, ep. 1, l. 28ff (1.1.28-32) (20 BC) [tr. Fuchs (1977)]
(Source)
(Source (Latin)). Other translations:Though one cannot lyke Linceus with pearsing eyesight see,
To mende his sighte he maye not grudge inoynted for to be.
Lyke lustie Glyco thou dispayres in lymmes to be so stoute
Yet maye thou exercyse thy selfe to shun the knottie gowte.
A man maye clim a step, or twayne thoughe he goe not beyonde.
[tr. Drant (1567)]Thy eyes will never pierce like Lynceus eye,
Scorn not to noint them though if sore they are:
Nor, of a Wrastlers strength if thou despair,
Neglect to salve the knotted Gout. If more
'S deni'd, 'tis something to have gon thus fur.
[tr. Fanshawe; ed. Brome (1666)]Yours cannot be as good as Lynceus Eyes,
What then, when Sore must I fit Cures despise?
You cannot Hope to have your Limbs as great
As Glyco's, nor so strong and firmly set,
Yet to prevent the Gout hast Thou no care?
What, if of farther progress you despair,
'Tis somewhat surely to have gone thus far.
[tr. Creech (1684)]You cannot hope for Lynceus' piercing eyes:
But will you then a strengthening salve despise?
You wish for matchless Glycon's limbs, in vain,
Yet why not cure the gout's decrepit pain?
Though of exact perfection you despair,
Yet every step to virtue's worth your care.
[tr. Francis (1747)]Though not a Lynceus, one may sure apply
The lenient salve to a distemper'd eye;
Nor would you scorn from chalk-stones to preserve
Joints that despair of Glycon's lion nerve.
Though hopeless to surmount fair virtue's hill,
To climb a certain height is something still.
[tr. Howes (1845)]Your sight is not so piercing as that of Lynceus; you will not however therefore despise being anointed, if you are sore-eyed: nor because you despair of the muscles of the invincible Glycon, will you be careless of preserving your body from the knotty gout. There is some point to which we may reach, if we can go no further.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]Your eyes will never see like Lynceus'; still
You rub them with an ointment when they're ill.
You cannot hope for Glyco's stalwart frame,
Yet you'd avoid the gout that makes you lame.
Some point of moral progress each may gain,
Though to aspire beyond it should prove vain.
[tr. Conington (1874)]No Lynceus you, yet will you not despise,
Because of that, a salve for aching eyes.
Glycon in thews may beat you out and out,
Shall you not, therefore, keep at bay the gout?
Fair wisdom's goal may not be reached, but you
May on the road advance a stage or two.
[tr. Martin (1881)]You may be unable to see so far as Lyncæus, yet you do not on this account, being a blear-eyed man, despise ointment. You may despair of possessing limbs like those of the unconquered gladiator Glycon, yet you will endeavour to preserve yourself from the hand-crippling gout. It is permitted us to attain a certain point, though denied us beyond it.
[tr. Elgood (1893)]You may not be able, with your eyes, to see as far as Lynceus, yet you would not on that account scorn to anoint them, if sore. Nor, because you may not hope for unconquered Glycon's strength of limb, would you decline to keep your body free from the gnarls of gout. It is worth while to take some steps forward, though we may not go still further.
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]Your eyes aren’t as keen
As Lynceus’, but this doesn’t mean that if they’re inflamed
You shouldn’t put drops in them. Glycon’s muscular limbs
Will never be yours, but still, you ought to take steps
To insure that the gout doesn’t tie your body in knots.
Your strides may be modest: they'll still take you further along.
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]Your eyes will never see as Lynkeus
Saw, riding with Jason, but when your eyes
Hurt, you rub them with slave. Olympic
Winners are stronger, alas, than you
Can ever be, but you too protect
Yourself form the wringing pain of gout.
It pays to go as far as our feet will take us,
Though there's farther to go,
And we can never go that far.
[tr. Raffel (1983)]Suppose you don't have eyes as good as Lynceus;
That doesn't mean that if they're sore you wouldn't
Use salve to make them better; suppose you haen't
A chance int he world of competing with undefeated
Glycon the strongman, that doesn't mean you wouldn't
Try everythihng you could by exercise
To keep away rheumatic aches and pains.
You can't do everything, but you have to do
Everything you can.
[tr. Ferry (2001)]You might not be able to rival Lynceus in length of vision,
but that wouldn’t make you refuse a salve if your eyes were sore.
You'll never enjoy the physique of Glyco the champeon athlete,
but you'd still want to keep your body free from the knots of gout.
We can all make some progress, in spite of our limitations.
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]You mightn’t be able to match Lynceus’ eyesight,
But you wouldn’t not bathe your eyes if they were sore:
And just because you can’t hope to have Glycon’s peerless
Physique, you’d still want your body free of knotty gout.
We should go as far as we can if we can’t go further.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
The Rash, the Lazy, Lover, none’s so wild,
But may be tame, and may be wisely mild,
If they consult true Vertue’s Rules with care,
And lend to good advice a patient ear.[Invidus, iracundus, iners, vinosus, amator,
nemo adeo ferus est, ut non mitescere possit,
si modo culturae patientem commodet aurem.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Epistles [Epistularum, Letters], Book 1, ep. 1, l. 38ff (1.1.38-40) (20 BC) [tr. Creech (1684)]
(Source)
(Source (Latin)). Other translations:Th'envyouse, angrye, drunken, slowe, the lover lewde and wylde
None so outeragiouse, but in tyme he maye become full mylde.
If he to good advertisemente will retche his listenyng eare,
And meekely byde with pacience the counsaile he shall heare.
[tr. Drant (1567)]The Envious, Wrathful, Sluggish, Drunkard, Lover:
No Beast so wild, but may be tam'd, if he
Will unto Precepts listen patiently.
[tr. Fanshawe; ed. Brome (1666)]The slave to envy, anger, wine, or love,
The wretch of sloth, its excellence shall prove:
Fierceness itself shall hear its rage away.
When listening calmly to the instructive lay.
[tr. Francis (1747)]The heart with envy cold -- with anger hot,
The libertine, the sluggard and the sot --
No wretch so savage, but, if he resign
His soul to culture, wisdom can refine.
[tr. Howes (1845)]The envious, the choleric, the indolent, the slave to wine, to women -- none is so savage that he can not be tamed, if he will only lend a patient ear to discipline.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]Run through the list of faults; whate'er you be,
Coward, pickthank, spitfire, drunkard, debauchee,
Submit to culture patiently, you'll find
Her charms can humanize the rudest mind.
[tr. Conington (1874)]However coarse in grain a man may be,
Drone, brawler, makebate, drunkard, debauchee,
A patient ear to culture let him lend,
He's sure to turn out gentler in the end.
[tr. Martin (1881)]Are you envious, irascible, inert, given to wine or immorality? No person is so savage that he cannot grow milder, provided he lend a patient ear to civilization's culture.
[tr. Elgood (1893)]The slave to envy, anger, sloth, wine, lewdness -- no one is so savage that he cannot be tamed, if only he lend to treatment a patient ear.
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]The envious man,
The sorehead, the lazy lout, the drinker, the lover:
No one is such a beast as not to be tamed
By lending a patient ear to moral advice.
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]Envious, wrathful, lazy, drunken men, lewd lovers too,
none is so thoroughly wild a beast he can't be tamed,
if only he'll lend for cultivation's sake an open ear.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]Jealousy,
Anger, laziness, drunkenness, lust: everything
Can be cured, nothing is so wild
That patient teaching will ever fail you.
[tr. Raffel (1983)]Nobody's so far gone in savagery --
A slave of envy, wrath, lust, drunkenness, sloth --
That he can't be civilized, if he'll only listen
Patiently to the doctor's good advice.
[tr. Ferry (2001)]Whether he’s envious, choleric, indolent, drunken or lustful --
no one is so unruly that he can’t become more gentle,
if only he listens with care to what his trainer tells him.
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]Envious, irascible, idle, drunken, lustful,
No man’s so savage he can’t be civilised,
If he’ll attend patiently to self-cultivation.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
Virtue begins by shunning vice; wisdom
By shunning folly.[Virtus est vitium fugere et sapientia prima
stultitia caruisse.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Epistles [Epistularum, Letters], Book 1, ep. 1, l. 41ff (1.1.41-42) (20 BC) [tr. Ferry (2001)]
(Source)
(Source (Latin)). Other translations:It is virtue, vice t'avoyde and wysedome chéefe of all
Follie to wante: these two ills lo do vex the at thy gall.
[tr. Drant (1567)]'Tis Vertue, to flie Vice: and the first Stair
Of Wisdome, to want Folly.
[tr. Fanshawe; ed. Brome (1666)]'Tis Vertue, Sir, to be but free from Vice,
And the first step tow'rds being truly Wise
Is to want folly.
[tr. Creech (1684)]Even in our flight from vice some virtue lies;
And free from folly, we to wisdom rise.
[tr. Francis (1747)]Vice to renounce is virtue's earliest rule,
Wisdom's first step is to lay aside the fool.
[tr. Howes (1845)]It is virtue, to fly vice; and the highest wisdom, to have lived free from folly.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]To fly from vice is virtue: to be free
From foolishness is wisdom's first degree.
[tr. Conington (1874)]To fly from vice is virtue, says the sage,
Not to be foolish, wisdom's earliest stage.
[tr. Martin (1881)]It is virtue to fly from vice, and the beginning of wisdom to be free from folly.
[tr. Elgood (1893)]To flee vice is the beginning of virtue, and to have got rid of folly is the beginning of wisdom.
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]Virtue means keeping from vice, and wisdom begins
When you stop being stupid.
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]Virtue begins with fleeing vice and wisdom starts
in being a fool no longer.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]Running when vice runs after you
Is the beginning of virtue; shaking
Foolishness off is the beginning
Of sense.
[tr. Raffel (1983)]Virtue's first rule is "avoid vice," and wisdom's
"get rid of folly."
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]Virtue is to flee vice, and wisdoms’ beginning is
Freedom from foolishness.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
You quickly remove something from your eye that hurts it:
if rot is eating at your soul, why postpone the cure a year?[Nam cur
quae laedunt oculum festinas demere; si quid
est animum, differs curandi tempus in annum?]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Epistles [Epistularum, Letters], Book 1, ep. 2 “To Lollius,” l. 37ff (1.2.37-39) (20 BC) [tr. Fuchs (1977)]
(Source)
(Source (Latin)). Other translations:Yea, thoughe thou be awake,
A little mote out of thyne eye why doste thou haste to take?
If oughte there be that noyes thy minde moste parte thou arte contente
Or thou begin to cure the same to seeke an whole yeare spente.
[tr. Drant (1567)]If a Fly
Get in thy Eye, 'tis puld out instantly:
But if thy Mindes Ey's hurt, day after day
That Cure's deferr'd.
[tr. Fanshawe; ed. Brome (1666)]You'l move an Eye-soar streight; and is it sence,
To let the Mind be cur'd a Twelve-moneth hence?
[tr. "Dr. W."; ed. Brome (1666)]For why, when any thing offends thy Eyes,
Dost thou streight seek for ease, and streight advise
Yet if it shall oppress thy Mind, endure
The ills with Patience, and defer the Cure?
[tr. Creech (1684)]For the hurt eye an instant cure you find;
Then why neglect, for years, the sickening mind?
[tr. Francis (1747)]How strange is this! if ought the eye offends,
You straight remove it and the anguish ends;
If ought corrodes the mind, some slight pretence
Serves to protract the cure a twelve-month hence.
[tr. Howes (1845)]For why do you hasten to remove things that hurt your eyes, but if any thing gnaws your mind, defer the time of curing it from year to year?
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]You lose no time in taking out a fly,
Or straw, it may be, that torments your eye;
Why, when a thing devours your mind, adjourn
Till this day year all thought of the concern?
[tr. Conington (1874)]Let but a speck of dust distress your eye,
You rest not till you're rid of it; then why,
If 'tis your mind that's out of sorts, will you
Put off the cure with "Any time will do"?
[tr. Martin (1881)]Anything which injures eyesight you will at once remove, why then, if anything injures the mind, do you delay for a whole year to heal it?
[tr. Elgood (1893)]Why indeed are you in a hurry to remove things which hurt the eye, while if aught is eating into your soul, you put off the time for cure till next year?
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]Why hurry so to take out that mote from your eye,
But put off until next year the time to take steps
To arrest your soul erosion?
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]You run to the doctor if anything sticks in your eye,
But leave your sick soul to be cured some other time,
Some other year!
[tr. Raffel (1983)]If you had a sty, you'd be in a hurry to cure it;
If the sickness is in your soul, why put it off?
[tr. Ferry (2001)]Why so quick to remove
a speck of dirt from your eye? And yet, if anything eats at
your soul, you say: ‘Time enough to attend to it next year’.
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]Why so quick to remove a speck from your eye, when
If it’s your mind, you put off the cure till next year?
[tr. Kline (2015)]
Well begun is half done; dare to be wise; begin!
[Dimidium facti qui coepit habet; sapere aude;
incipe!]
Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Epistles [Epistularum, Letters], Book 1, ep. 2 “To Lollius,” l. 40ff (1.2.40-41) (20 BC) [tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]
(Source)
See Aristotle.
(Source (Latin)). Other translations:The facte begun, to one halfe is done, be wyse and take good harte:
Begin.
[tr. Drant (1567)]Begin, be bold, and venture to be wise.
[tr. Cowley (17th C)]Set forth, thou'rt half thy way.
Dare to be wise: Begin.
[tr. Fanshawe; ed. Brome (1666)]Begin: 'tis half the work: assume the power
To live: expect not for a fairer hower.
[tr. "Dr. W."; ed. Brome (1666)]He that hath once begun a good design,
Hath finish't half; dare to be wise, begin.
[tr. Creech (1684)]Dare to be wise; begin; for, once begun,
Your task is easy; half the work is done.
[tr. Francis (1747)]In virtue's race to start is half to win;
Come then, be wise -- take courage and begin!
[tr. Howes (1845)]He has half the deed done, who has made a beginning. Boldly undertake the study of true wisdom: begin it forthwith.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]Come now, have courage to be wise: begin:
You're halfway over when you once plunge in.
[tr. Conington (1874)]Make a good start, and you are sure to win.
So, then, have courage to be wise! Begin!
[tr. Martin (1881)]Whoever has begun a deed, by so doing has accomplished half of it. Dare to be wise. Begin.
[tr. Elgood (1893)]Well begun
Is half done. Dare to be wise. Get under way!
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]Once you start, it's nearly done. Be brave and wise:
Begin.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]To begin a job is half the labor: be brave
Enough to be wise: begin!
[tr. Raffel (1983)]Get yourself going and you'll be halfway there;
Dare to be wise; get started.
[tr. Ferry (2001)]Well begun is half done. Dare to be wise.
Start now.
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]Who’s started has half finished: dare to be wise: begin!
[tr. Kline (2015)]He who has begun has half done. Dare to be wise; begin!
[Bartlett's]
He who puts off the hour to begin living rightly
Is like the yokel who stands at the stream with a sigh:
“I can’t get across. I’ll wait here till it runs dry.”
Meanwhile, it flows, forever flows on and rolls by.[Qui recte vivendi prorogat horam,
rusticus exspectat dum defluat amnis; at ille
labitur et labitur in omne volubilis aevum.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Epistles [Epistularum, Letters], Book 1, ep. 2 “To Lollius,” l. 41ff (1.2.41-42) (20 BC) [tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]
(Source)
(Source (Latin)). Other translations:Who so dryves of good déedes, he playes the farmers part,
Who will not overslip the brooke whilste that the water falls,
The water runnes, and kepes his course, and ever kepe it shall.
[tr. Drant (1567)]He who defers this work from day to day,
Does on a river's bank expecting stay,
Till the whole stream which stopt him should be gone,
That runs, and as it runs, forever will run on.
[tr. Cowley (17th C)]He that to rule
And square his life, prolongs, is like the Fool
Who staid to have the River first pass by,
Which rowles and rowles to all Eternity.
[tr. Fanshawe; ed. Brome (1666)]So stayes the Clown till th' hasty Brook be dri'd,
But th' everlasting streams still still do glide.
[tr. "Dr. W."; ed. Brome (1666)]He that deferrs to live is like the Clown,
Who waits, expecting till the River's gone:
But that still rouls its Streams, and will roul on.
[tr. Creech (1684)]And sure the man, who has it in his power
To practise virtue, and protracts the hour,
Waits, like the rustic, till the river dried:
Still glides the river, and will ever glide.
[tr. Francis (1747)]He that defers life's task from day to day,
Is like the simple clown who thought to stay
Till the full stream that stopt him should be gone: --
Alas! the tide still rolls and ever will roll on!
[tr. Howes (1845)]He who postpones the hour of living well, like the hind [in the fable], waits till [all the water in] the river be run off: whereas it flows, and will flow, ever rolling on.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]He who puts off the time for mending, stands
A clodpoll by the stream with folded hands,
Waiting till all the water be gone past;
But it runs on, and will, while time shall last.
[tr. Conington (1874)]He that would mend his life, yet still delays
To set to work, is like the boor who stays
Till the broad stream that bars his way is gone.
But on still flows the stream, and ever will flow on.
[tr. Martin (1881)]Whoever puts off the course of a right life waits, like the rustic, until the stream shall stop. But it rolls on, and will continue to roll on to every age.
[tr. Elgood (1893)]He who puts off the hour of right living is like the bumpkin waiting for the river to run out: yet on it glides, and on it will glide, rolling its flood forever.
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]Any man delaying when he could be living right
is like the hayseed who waits for the river to stop:
it flows and flows -- in fact, it rushes -- forever.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]The fool waits
For the river to run by, so he can cross, but it runs forever,
On and on, and always will. Now is the time.
[tr. Raffel (1983)]The man who puts off
The time to start living right is like the hayseed
Who wants to cross the river and so he sits there
Waiting for the river to run out of water,
And the river flows by, and it flows on by, forever.
[tr. Ferry (2001)]The man who postpones the hour of reform
is the yokel who waits for the river to pass; but it continues
and will continue gliding and rolling for ever and ever.
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]He who postpones the time for right-living resembles
The rustic who’s waiting until the river’s passed by:
Yet it glides on, and will roll on, gliding forever.
[tr. Kline (2015)]He who postpones the hour of living rightly is like the rustic who waits for the river to run out before he crosses, yet on it glides, and will glide on forever.
[E.g.]He who postpones the hour of living rightly, is like the rustic who waits till the river shall have passed away; but that still flows, and will continue to flow to perpetuity.
[E.g.]
He wants for ever, who would more acquire;
Set certain limits to your wild desire.[Semper avarus eget; certum voto pete finem.]
Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Epistles [Epistularum, Letters], Book 1, ep. 2 “To Lollius,” l. 56ff (1.2.56) (20 BC) [tr. Francis (1747)]
(Source)
(Source (Latin)). Other translations:The Carle wantes aye, let thou thy drift to no excesse extende.
[tr. Drant (1567)]The Cov'tous alwayes want: your pray'rs design
To some fixt mark.
[tr. Fanshawe; ed. Brome (1666)]Desires are endless, till you fix the end.
[tr. "Dr. W."; ed. Brome (1666)]The Greedy want, to Wishes fix an End.
[tr. Creech (1684)]Draw some fix'd line where your desires may rest:
Th' insatiate miser ever is distress'd.
[tr. Howes (1845)]The covetous man is ever in want; set a certain limit to your wishes.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]The miser's always needy: draw a line
Within whose bound your wishes to confine.
[tr. Conington (1874)]A miser's always poor. A bound assign
To what you want, then keep within the line.
[tr. Martin (1881)]The avaricious man ever wants. Put a fixed limit on your desires.
[tr. Elgood (1893)]The covetous is ever in want: aim at a fixed limit for your desires.
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]The miser is always in need; draw a boundary line
Around your desires.
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]Greedy men are always poor: set limits to desire.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]The greedy never have enough: never want too much
For yourself.
[tr. Raffel (1983)]The avaricious man always feels poor;
Set limits to what your desires make you long for.
[tr. Ferry (2001)]The greedy are never content; fix an end to your longings.
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]The greedy always want: set fixed limits to longing.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
Anger’s a short frenzy, curb thy Soul,
And check thy rage, which must be rul’d or rule:
Use all thy Art, with all thy force restrain,
And take the strongest Bit, and firmest Rein.[Ira furor brevis est: animum rege; qui nisi paret
imperat; hunc frenis, hunc tu compesce catena.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Epistles [Epistularum, Letters], Book 1, ep. 2 “To Lollius,” l. 62ff (1.2.62) (20 BC) [tr. Creech (1684)]
(Source)
(Source (Latin)). Other translations:Ire is shorte wrathe, rule thow thy moode, if it do not obey,
It rules forthwith, it thou with bitte, it thou with chaine must stay.
[tr. Drant (1567)]Anger id a short madness: Rule thy mind:
Which reigns, if it obeys not: [...]
With chaines, restrain it with an Iron bit.
[tr. Fanshawe; ed. Brome (1666)]Anger's a shorter phrensie. Passion reigns
If't be n't enslav'd, but curb it in with chains.
[tr. "Dr. W."; ed. Brome (1666)]Anger's a shorter madness of the mind;
Subdue the tyrant, and in fetters bind.
[tr. Francis (1747)]'Tis a short madness: calm the rising fit;
Curb it betimes, and tame it to your bit.
[tr. Howes (1845)]Rage is a short madness. Rule your passion, which commands, if it do not obey; do you restrain it with a bridle, and with fetters.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]Wrath is a short-lived madness: curb and bit
Your mind: 'twill rule you, if you rule not it.
[tr. Conington (1874)]Anger is but a short-lived frenzy-fit.
Your passion then with rein and bit subdue;
If you don't master it, 'twill master you.
[tr. Martin (1881)]Anger is a passing madness. Be master of your passions which, unless they obey you, command yuou. Control them by rein and cub.
[tr. Elgood (1893)]Anger is short-lived madness. Rule your passion, for unless it obeys, it gives commands. Check it with bridle -- check it, I pray you, with chains.
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]Rule your desires:
If they don't obey, they'll command. Bridle them. Chain them!
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]Anger, no matter how brief, is madness. Rule your passions
or they'll rule you; manage them with reins or with a leash.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]Anger is a transient insanity: check your passion or your passion
Checkmates you. Rule it like an unruly horse -- chain it, if you must.
[tr. Raffel (1983)]A fit of rage
Is a fit of genuine honest-to-goodness madness.
Keep control of your passions. If you don't,
Your passions are sure to get control of you.
Keep control of them, bridle them, keep them in chains.
[tr. Ferry (2001)]Rage is a burst of madness. Restrain your temper: unless it
obeys it will rule you. Keep it in check with bridle and chain.
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]Anger’s a brief madness: rule your heart, that unless
It obeys, controls: and check it with bridle and chain.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
’Mid hopes and fears and passion’s stormy strife
Think, every day that dawns, the last of life:
Thus shall each hour that lengthens nature’s treat,
By coming unexpected, come more sweet.[Inter spem curamque, timores inter et iras,
Omnem crede diem tibi diluxisse supremum:
Grata superveniet quae non sperabitur hora.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Epistles [Epistularum, Letters], Book 1, ep. 4 “To Albius Tibullus,” l. 12ff (1,4.12-14) (20 BC) [tr. Howes (1845)]
(Source)
(Source (Latin)). Other translations:Twixte hope to have, and care to kepe, twixte feare and wrathe, awaye
Consumes the time: eche daye that cummes thinke it the latter daye,
The hower that cummes unloked for shall cum more welcum ay.
[tr. Drant (1567)]When thou'rt tost up and down' twixt hope and care,
Enflam'd with anger and shrunk up with fear:
As soon as such a day is overpast,
Comfort thy self, that that's to be the last:
When an hour comes that brings thee joy and bliss,
If unexpected, Oh! how grateful is!
[tr. A. B.; ed. Brome (1666)]Whilst mid'st strong hopes and fears thy time doth wast,
Think every rising Sun will be thy last;
And so the grateful unexpected Hour
Of Life prolong'd, when come, will please the more.
[tr. Creech (1684)]By hope inspir'd, deprest with fear,
By passion warm'd, perplext with care,
Believe that every morning's ray
Hath lighted up thy latest day;
Then, if to-morrow's sun be thine,
With double lustre shall it shine.
[tr. Francis (1747)]In the midst of hope and care, in the midst of fears and disquietudes, think every day that shines upon you is the last. [Thus] the hour, which shall not be expected, will come upon you an agreeable addition.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]Let hopes and sorrows, fears and angers be,
And think each day that dawns the last you'll see;
For so the hour that greets you unforeseen
Will bring with it enjoyment twice as keen.
[tr. Conington (1874)]'Twixt hopes and tremors, fears and frenzies passed,
Regard each day as though it were thy last.
So shall chance seasons of delight arise.
And overtake thee with a sweet surprise.
[tr. Martin (1881)]Unswayed then either by hopes or fears, by apprehensive or angry feelings, regard each day, as it shines upon you, as your last. death will one day come upon you acceptably because unexpectedly.
[tr. Elgood (1893)]Amid hopes and cares, amid fears and passions, believe that every day that has dawned is your last. Welcome will come to you another hour unhoped for.
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]Between your hopes
And cares, between your rages and fears, believe
That each day's down is the last to shine upon you:
The unhoped-for hours will be welcome.
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]Among men’s cares and hopes, their fears and rages,
count as your last each morning that illuminates the sky:
then the next day, unhoped for, will always please you.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]Live with hope and with fear, with worry and with angry passion,
But expect every hour to be your last:
Days come even more delightful, unexpected.
[tr. Raffel (1983)]Between hope and discouragement, fears, and angers, and such,
Treat every new day as the last you're going to have,
Then welcome the next as unexpectedly granted.
[tr. Ferry (2001)]In a world torn by hope and worry, dread and anger,
imagine every day that dawns is the last you'll see;
the hour you never hoped for will prove a happy surprise.
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]Beset by hopes and anxieties, indignation and fear,
Treat every day that dawns for you as the last.
The unhoped-for hour’s ever welcome when it comes.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
You may drive out Nature with a pitchfork, yet she will ever hurry back, and, ere you know it, will burst through your foolish contempt in triumph.
[Naturam expellas furca, tamen usque recurret,
Et mala perrumpet furtim fastidia victrix.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Epistles [Epistularum, Letters], Book 1, ep. 10 “To Aristius Fuscus,” l. 24ff (1.10.n) (20 BC) [tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]
(Source)
Horace trying to persuade his citified friend Aristius that a more natural setting in the countryside is better.
Variants of "expellas furca" (driving with a pitchfork) were a common Roman expression.
(Source (Latin)). Other translations:The citizens thinkes nature base, and arte is their desier.
Tushe, expulse nature with a forke yet she will still retire,
But chefely, if that she be euill she tarries then no space,
The victris hath a swifte recourse by stealthe unto her place.
[tr. Drant (1567)]Drive Nature with a Pitch-fork out, shee'l back
Victorious (spite of State) by'a secret Track.
[tr. R. F.; ed. Brome (1666)]Strive to expel strong Nature, 'tis in vain,
With doubled force she will return again,
And conquering rise above the proud disdain.
[tr. Creech (1684)]For Nature, driven out with proud disdain,
All-powerful goddess, will return again;
Return in silent triumph, to deride
the weak attempts of luxury and pride.
[tr. Francis (1747)]Thus, chase her out of doors -- do what you will --
Nature renews the charge and triumphs still;
spurs the weak barriers which caprice would lay
Athwart her course, and boldly bursts her way.
[tr. Howes (1845)]You may drive out nature with a fork, yet still she will return, and, insensibly victorious, will break through [men’s] improper disgusts.
[tr. Smart/Buckley 1853)]Drive Nature forth by force, she'll turn and rout
The false refinements that would keep her out.
[tr. Conington (1874)]Turn Nature, neck-and-shoulders, out of door.
She'll find her way to where she was before;
And imperceptibly in time subdue
Wealth's sickly fancies, and her tastes untrue.
[tr. Martin (1881)]You shall expel nature with a fork, yet will it always return and, by imperceptibly breaking through injurous aversions, show itself the conquerer.
[tr. Elgood (1893)]Drive Nature out with a pitchfork. She'll be back again.
She'll outwit and break through absurd contempt! She will win!
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]Thrust nature out with a pitchfork -- she'll come back,
and gradually she'll win, breaking through your fancy fakes.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]Push out Nature with a pitchfork, she’ll always come back,
And our stupid contempt somehow falls on its face before her.
[tr. Raffel (1983)]Drive Nature out with a pitchfork, she'll come right back,
Victorious over your ignorant confident scorn.
[tr. Ferry (2001)]Expel nature with a fork; she’ll keep on trotting back.
Relax -- and she'll break triumphantly through your silly refinements.
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]Drive Nature off with a pitchfork, she’ll still press back,
And secretly burst in triumph through your sad disdain.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
A man who gets too happy when prosperity comes
trembles when it goes.[Quem res plus nimio delectavere secundae,
mutatae quatient.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Epistles [Epistularum, Letters], Book 1, ep. 10 “To Aristius Fuscus,” l. 30ff (1.10.30-31) (20 BC) [tr. Fuchs (1977)]
(Source)
(Source (Latin)). Other translations:Who so was to much ravished and to much joy did take
In flow of wealth, him chaunge of flow yea to much shall yshake.
[tr. Drant (1567)]Him, whom a prosp'rous State did too much please;
Chang'd, it will shake.
[tr. Fanshawe; ed. Brome (1666)]Those whom the smiles of Fate too much delight,
Their sudden Frowns more shake and more affright.
[tr. Creech (1684)]They who in Fortune's smiles too much delight,
Shall tremble when the goddess takes her flight.
[tr. Francis (1747)]Who prizes fortune at too high a rate,
Will shrink with horror at an alter'd state.
[tr. Howes (1845)]He who has been overjoyed by prosperity, will be shocked by a change of circumstances.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]Take too much pleasure in good things, you'll feel
The shock of adverse fortune makes you reel.
[tr. Conington (1874)]Whoe'er hath wildly wantoned in success.
Him will adversity the more depress.
[tr. Martin (1881)]Him whom prosperity too much elates adversity will shake.
[tr. Elgood (1893)]One whom Fortune's smiles have delighted overmuch, will reel under the shock of change.
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]One overmuch elated with success
A change of fortune plunges in distress.
[tr. A. F. Murison (1931)]One whom a favorable turn of events overjoys
A change for the worse undermines.
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]If Fortune’s been kind
-- Too kind! -- loss will seem more than loss, will seem
Catastrophe.
[tr. Raffel (1983)]Change will upset the man who's always been lucky.
[tr. Ferry (2001)]Those who are overjoyed when the breeze of luck is behind them
are wrecked when it changes.
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]Those who’ve been quick to enjoy a following wind,
Are wrecked when it veers.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
There was a stag, once, who could always defeat a stallion
And drive him out of their pasture — until, tired of losing,
The horse begged help of man, and got a bridle in return.
He beat the stag, all right, and he laughed — but then the rider
Stayed on his back, and the bit stayed in his mouth.
Give up your freedom, more worried about poverty than something
Greater than any sum of gold, and become a slave and stay
A slave forever, unable to live on only enough.[Cervus equum pugna melior communibus herbis
pellebat, donec minor in certamine longo
imploravit opes hominis frenumque recepit;
sed postquam victor violins discessit ab hoste,
non equitem dorso, non frenum depulit ore.
Sic qui pauperiem veritus potiore metallis
libertate caret, dominum vehet improbus atque
serviet aeternum, quia parvo nesciet uti.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Epistles [Epistularum, Letters], Book 1, ep. 10 “To Aristius Fuscus,” l. 34ff (1.10.34-41) (20 BC) [tr. Raffel (1983)]
(Source)
(Source (Latin)). Other translations:An hart the better chevalier as it came then to passe
Did chase an horse that fed with him from eating of the grasse.
The tryumpher after that he was parted from his foe
The man from backe, the bitt from mouthe he could not rid them fro.
So, he that feareth povertie his fredom cannot houlde.
Fredome, better then mettells all better then choysest goulde.
That foole shall beare in dede a Lorde, and lyve a dayly thrall,
For that he will not knowe to use and lyve upon a small.
[tr. Drant (1567)]The Stagg superior both in Arms and Force,
Out of the Common-Pasture drove the Horse:
Untill the vanquish'd after a long fight
Pray'd Man's assistance, and receiv'd the Bit:
But, having beat the Victor, could not now
Bit from his Mouth, nor Man from his Back throw.
So He that fearing Poverty, hath sold
Away his Liberty; better then Gold,
Shall carry a proud Lord upon his back,
And serve for ever, 'cause he could not lack.
[tr. Fanshawe; ed. Brome (1666)]Both fed together, till with injur'ous force,
The stoutest Deer expell'd the weaker Horse:
He beaten, flyes to Man to right his Cause,
Begs help, and takes the Bridle in his Jaws.
Yet tho He Conquer'd, tho He rul'd the Plain,
He bore the Rider still, and felt the Rein.
Thus the mean Wretch, that fearing to be poor,
Doth sell his Liberty for meaner Ore:
Must bear a Lord, He must be still a Slave,
That cannot use the little Nature gave.
[tr. Creech (1684)]A lordly stag, arm'd with superior force,
Drove from their common field a vanquisht horse,
Who for revenge to man his strength enslav'd,
Took up his rider, and the bitt received:
But, though he conquer'd in the martial strife,
He felt his rider's weight, and champt the bitt for life.
So he, who poverty with horror views,
Nor frugal nature's bounty knows to use;
Who sells his freedom in exchange for gold
(Freedom for mines of wealth too cheaply sold),
Shall make eternal servitude his fate,
And feel a haughty master's galling weight.
[tr. Francis (1747)]It chanced that after many a well-fought bout
The Stag contrived to put the Horse to rout;
'Till, from his pasture driven, the foe thought fit
To ask the aid of man and took the bit.
He conquer'd; but, his triumph o'er, began
To find he could shake off nor bit nor man.
such is the fate of him who, if he please,
Might rest in humble competence and ease,
Yet through the dread of penury has sold
That independence which surpasses gold.
Henceforth he'll serve a tyrant for his pains,
And stand or budge as avarice pulls the reins.
[tr. Howes (1845)]The stag, superior in fight, drove the horse from the common pasture, till the latter, worsted in the long contest, implored the aid of man and received the bridle; but after he had parted an exulting conqueror from his enemy, he could not shake the rider from his back, nor the bit from his mouth. So he who, afraid of poverty, forfeits his liberty, more valuable than mines, avaricious wretch, shall carry a master, and shall eternally be a slave, for not knowing how to use a little.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]The stag was wont to quarrel with the steed,
Nor let him graze in common on the mead:
The steed, who got the worst in each attack,
Asked help from man, and took him on his back:
But when his foe was quelled, he ne'er got rid
Of his new friend, still bridled and bestrid.
So he who, fearing penury, loses hold
Of independence, better far than gold,
Will toil, a hopeless drudge, till life is spent,
Because he'll never, never learn content.
[tr. Conington (1874)]Once on a time a stag, at antlers' point,
Expelled a horse he'd worsted, from the joint
Enjoyment of the pasture both had cropped:
Still, when he ventured near it, rudely stopped.
The steed called in man's aid, and took the bit:
Thus backed, he charged the stag, and conquered it.
But woe the while! nor rider, bit, nor rein
Could he shake off, and be himself again.
So he who, fearing poverty, hath sold
His freedom, better than uncounted gold.
Will bear a master and a master's laws.
And be a slave unto the end, because
He will not learn, what fits him most to know.
How far, discreetly used, small means will go.
[tr. Martin (1881)]The stag, being the more powerful animal in fight, was accustomed to drive off the horse from the open pasture until the latter, feeling his inferiority, after a protracted contest, implored the help of man, and received the rein. But after that, a revengeful victor, he had left his foe he threw not off the rider from his back nor the bit from his mouth. In a like manner the man who, through a dread of a small income, possesses not freedom -- preferable to metallic treasure -- will, basely, carry a master and yield him perpetual servitude, because he knows not how to enjoy a little.
[tr. Elgood (1893)]The stag could best the horse in fighting and used to drive him from their common pasture, until the loser in the long contest begged the help of man and took the bit. But after that, in overweening triumph, he parted from his foe, he did not dislodge the rider from his back or the bit from his mouth. So he who through fear of poverty forfeits liberty, which is better than mines of wealth, will in his avarice carry a master, and be a slave for ever, not knowing how to live on little.
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]The stag, victorious in fight, in course
Drove from the common pasturage the horse,
Until the horse, at last forced to submit,
Called in the help of man and took the bit;
But, when he had subdued his foe by force,
The rider from his back he couldn't divorce,
Nor from his mouth the bit. So, if in dread
Of Want, wone has one's freedom forfeited --
Freedom more precious than a mine outspread --
A master he will carry for his greed,
And always be a slave, because in deed
He knows not how to make a little do.
[tr. A. F. Murison (1931); ed. Kraemer, Jr (1936)]The stag, in time past, could drive
The horse from the feeding ground, and beat him in fighting,
Until the perpetual loser came crying to man
To ask for his help, and accepted the bit. Then the horse
Fought the stag once again to a bitter conclusion, and won.
He walked off and left his foe, but now couldn’t shake
The bit from his mouth or the rider down from his back.
So one who, fearing poverty, loses the liberty
That is worth even more than a gold mine will carry a master,
And cravenly slave for another, simply because
He can't subsist on a little.
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]A stag battled a horse for the best grass in a field
And kept on winning until the loser in that long war
approached a man to beg his help, and took the bit.
But when it had won the bloody clash and routed its foe,
it could neither shake out the bit nor shake off the rider.
Anyone so scared of poverty he'd rather lose his freedom
than his mines is such a fool he bears a rider, a master
he'll obey forever, since he never learned to live on little.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]The stag was a better fighter than the horse
And often drove him out of their common pasture,
Until the horse, the loser, asked man's help
And acquiesced in taking the bit in his mouth.
But after his famous victory in this battle
He couldn't get the rider off his back
And he couldn't get the bit out of his mouth.
The man who'se afraid to be poor and therefore gives
His liberty away, worth more than gold,
Will carry a master on his back and be
A slave forever, not knowing how to live
On just a little.
[tr. Ferry (2001)]The stag, being stronger than the horse, drove him away from the pasture
they shared, until, having had the worse of the age-old struggle,
the horse turned for help to man, and accept the bit.
But after routing his enemy and leaving the field in triumph
he never dislodged the rider from his back or the bit from his mouth.
So the man who, in fear of poverty, forgoes his independence
(a thing more precious than metals) has the shame of carrying a master;
he's a slave for life, as he will not make the best of a little.
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]The stag could always better the horse in conflict,
And drive him from open ground, until the loser
In that long contest, begging man’s help, took the bit:
Yet, disengaged from his enemy, as clear victor,
He couldn’t shed man from his back, the bit from his mouth.
So the perverse man who forgoes his freedom, worth more
Than gold, through fear of poverty, suffers a master
And is a slave forever, by failing to make much
Of little.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
When a man’s fortune will not fit him, ’tis as ofttimes with a shoe — if too big for the foot, it will trip him; if too small, will chafe.
[Cui non conveniet sua res, ut calceus olim,
si pede maior erit, subvertet, si minor, uret.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Epistles [Epistularum, Letters], Book 1, ep. 10 “To Aristius Fuscus,” l. 42ff (1.10.42-43) (20 BC) [tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]
(Source)
(Source (Latin)). Other translations:Who fits not his Minde to it, his Estate
If little, pinches him: throws him, if great.
[tr. Fanshawe; ed. Brome (1666)]Him whom his Wealth doth not exactly fit,
Whose stores too closely, or too loosely sit,
Like Shoes ill made and faulty, if too great
They overturn, and pinch him if too strait.
[tr. Creech (1684)]Our fortunes and our shoes are near allied;
Pincht in the straight, we stumble in the wide.
[tr. Francis (1747)]Whene'er our wants square ill with our estate,
Be it or very small or very great,
'Tis like an ill-made shoe which gives a fall
If 'tis too large, and pinches if too small.
[tr. Howes (1845)]When a man’s condition does not suit him, it will be as a shoe at any time; which, if too big for his foot, will throw him down; if too little, will pinch him.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]Means should, like shoes, be neither large nor small;
Too wide, they trip us up, too strait, they gall.
[tr. Conington (1874)]Whene'er our mind's at war with our estate,
Like an ill shoe, it trips us, if too great;
Too small, it pinches.
[tr. Martin (1881)]He who is not satisfied with what he possesses resembles a man wearing a shoe either too large, so that it will throw him down, or too small, that it will inflame his foot.
[tr. Elgood (1893)]Suit not one's means one's lot -- 'tis like the shoe:
Be it too large, twill cause the man to fall;
Be it too small, his foot 'twill surely gall.
[tr. A. F. Murison; ed. Kraemer, Jr (1936)]If what you have
Won't do, well ... it's like the wrong size shoe:
If it's too big for your foot, you trip and fall all over yourself;
If it's too small, it pinches.
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]A fortune that doesn't fit its owner resembles shoes;
if too big, it makes him totter; if too small, it chafes.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]A wrong size fortune is like a wrong size shoe:
Too big, it makes you trip; too little, it pinches your foot.
[tr. Raffel (1983)]If what he happens to have
Won't fit a man, it's as it is with a shoe:
Too big, it makes you stumble' too small, it pinches.
[tr. Ferry (2001)]A man’s means, when they don’t fit him, are rather like shoes --
he’s tripped by a size too large, pinched by a size too small.
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]When a man’s means don’t suit him it’s often
Like a shoe: too big and he stumbles, too small it chafes.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
Gold will be slave or master: ’tis more fit
That it be led by us than we by it.[Imperat aut servit collecta pecunia cuique,
tortum digna sequi potius quam ducere funem.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Epistles [Epistularum, Letters], Book 1, ep. 10 “To Aristius Fuscus,” l. 47ff (1.10.47-48) (20 BC) [tr. Conington (1874)]
(Source)
(Source (Latin)). Other translations:More worthy to cum after him constrained with a cord,
Then that it shoulde so have the heade, and leade the lowtishe Lorde.
[tr. Drant (1567)]Who ere has Money, either 'tis his Slave,
Or 'tis his Master, as when two men tug
At a Ropes ends: W' are dragg'd unless we drag.
[tr. Fanshawe; ed. Brome (1666)]Money must rule, or must obey the Mind,
More fit for Service than for Rule design'd
[tr. Creech (1684)]Gold is the slave, or tyrant, of the soul;
Unworthy to command, it better brooks controul.
[tr. Francis (1747)]That lucre, since it must be slave or lord,
May rather bear, than pull, the servile cord.
[tr. Howes (1845)]Accumulated money is the master or slave of each owner, and ought rather to follow than to lead the twisted rope.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]For hoarded wealth is either slave or lord.
And should itself be pulled, not pull the cord.
[tr. Martin (1881)]Hoarded up wealth, worthy to follow the twisted rope rather than to hold it, commands -- does not serve -- its possessor.
[tr. Elgood (1893)]Money stored up is for each his lord or his slave, but ought to follow, not lead, the twisted rope.
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]His master or his slave is each man's hoard,
And ought to follow, not to pull, the cord.
[tr. A. F. Murison (1931)]Money stored up
Is every man's master, or slave. A well-woven rope
Ought to follow and not lead the way.
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]The money we amass will either rule or serve us;
we should lead it on a halter, rather than be led.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]Piled-up gold can be master or slave, depending on its owner;
Never let it pull you along, like a goat on a rope.
[tr. Raffel (1983)]The money you have is either your master or slave.
The leash should be held by you, not by your money.
[tr. Ferry (2001)]The money a person amasses can give, or take, orders.
Its proper place is the end of the tow-rope, not the front.
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]The money we hoard is our master or our servant:
The twisted rope should trail behind, not draw us on.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
Away with complaints; for he is not poor, who has enough of things to use. If stomach, lungs, and feet are all in health, the wealth of kings can give you nothing more.
[Tolle querellas:
Pauper enim non est, cui rerum suppetit usus.
si ventri bene, si lateri est pedibusque tuis, nil
divitiae poterunt regales addere maius.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Epistles [Epistularum, Letters], Book 1, ep. 12 “To Iccius,” l. 4ff (1.12.4-6) (20 BC) [tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]
(Source)
(Source (Latin)). Other translations:Do waye therefore thy practysde plaintes, bemone thy selfe no more.
For he that hath the use of goodes, cannot be judged poore.
If that thy bellie, sydes, and féete, and all thy partes be well,
Not wealth of kinges can adde to owght that doth this wealth excell.
[tr. Drant (1567)]Therefore leave off complaining that thou'rt poor:
For he's not poor, whom fortune does produce,
What e're is necessary for his use.
If thou canst get good Diet, and warm Cloaths,
Caesars Estate can't give thee more than those.
[tr. A. B.; ed. Brome (1666)]My Friend complain no more,
He that hath things for use is never poor.
If Thou hast cleanly Food and Cloaths enough,
What more than this can kingly Wealth bestow?
[tr. Creech (1684)]The cease complaining, friend, and learn to live.
He is not poor to whom kind Fortune grants,
Even with a frugal hand, what Nature wants.
Are you with food, and warmth, and raiment blest?
Not royal treasures are of more possest.
[tr. Francis (1747)]Hush then vain murmurs -- throw complaint aside!
He ne'er is poor, whose wants are well supplied.
Possess'd of health and food and raiment, know
Arabia's treasures can no more bestow.
[tr. Howes (1845)]Away with complaints! for that man is by no means poor, who has the use or everything, he wants. If it is well with your belly, your back, and your feet, regal wealth can add nothing greater.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]A truce to murmuring: with another's store
To use at pleasure, who shall call you poor?
Sides, stomach, feet, if these are all in health,
What more could man procure with princely wealth?
[tr. Conington (1874)]No more complaining, friend! for poor
That man is not who can insure
Whate'er for life is needful found.
Let your digestion be but sound.
Your side unwrung by spasm or stitch.
Your foot unconscious of a twitch,
And could you be more truly blest,
Though of the wealth of kings possessed?
[tr. Martin (1881)]Away with complaining -- for he is not a poor man who has a sufficiency for every need. If you have health in your stomach, your side, and your feet, the riches of kings can give you nothing superior.
[tr. Elgood (1893)]So stop complaining! The man is certainly not poor
Who has everything that he needs. A king’s own ransom
Can’t add a bit more, if your stomach and lungs
And feet are all right.
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]He is not poor who has enough of things to use.
If it is well with your belly, chest and feet,
the wealth of kings can give you nothing more.
[Bartlett's (1968)]Stop complaining.
No one is a pauper who has all the things he needs.
If your belly's good and your lungs and feet are healthy,
no royal treasure could add the slightest bit to yours.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]Stop complaining!
No one is poor who has enough of all he needs.
If your belly is full and your health is good and your feet
Don’t hurt, why would an emperor’s wealth be worth having?
[tr. Raffel (1983) "Ixus"]No one is poor who can use whatever he has.
[tr. Ferry (2001)]No more complaining!
The man who enjoys the use of commodities isn’t poor.
If stomach, chest, and feet are in good condition, then kings
with all their wealth can add nothing of greater value.
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]Stop complaining:
He’s not poor whose enjoyment of things suffices.
If your lungs, stomach and feet are healthy, royal
Wealth can add nothing.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
To go on with my advice (that is, supposing
You need advice from me): Be careful about
The things you say and the people to whom you say them.
Avoid the man who asks too many questions.
No question but he’ll be a teller of tales;
An ear that eager can’t keep a secret for long,
And once a word slips out it won’t come back.[Protinus ut moneam (si quid monitoris eges tu)
quid de quoque viro et cui dicas, saepe videto,
percontatorem fugito: nam garrulus idem est,
nec retinent patulae commissa fideliter aures,
et semel emissum volat irrevocabile verbum.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Epistles [Epistularum, Letters], Book 1, ep. 18 “To Lollius,” l. 67ff (1.18.67-71) (20 BC) [tr. Ferry (2001)]
(Source)
(Source (Latin)). Other translations:Further for to admonishe the (If therof thou standst neede)
What, of what men, to whom thou speakest, take ever earnest heede.
A groper after novelties, in any wise do flye.
I warrante the learne this of me the same's a verye pye.
Nor wyde ope eares the thinges of trust can well conceale at all,
And word once scaped, away its gone, and none can it recall.
[tr. Drant (1567)]When thou dost talk of any man, take care
Of whom, to whom, and what thy speeches are.
Shun him that is inquisitive, for he
Will be as guilty of Garrulitie.
And his still gaping ears itch to reveal
What e're his friend intrusts him to conceal.
And 'tis impossible e're to recall
One syllable which we have once let fall.
[tr. A. B.; ed. Brome (1666)]But to advise you, if you want advice,
Take heed of whom you speak, and what it is,
Take heed to whom, avoid the busy Men,
Fly the inquisitive, they'l talk agen,
And tell what you have said, a leaky Ear
Can never hold what it shall chance to hear,
'Twill run all out, and what you once let fall
It flys, and tis impossible to recall.
[tr. Creech (1684)]If my advice regard my claim,
Be tender of another's fame,
And be the man with caution tried.
In whose discretion you confide.
The impertinent be sure to hate;
Who loves to ask, will love to prate.
Ears, that unfold to every tale,
Entrusted secrets ill conceal,
And you shall wish, but wish in vain,
To call the fleeting words again.
[tr. Francis (1747)]But with our sage monitions to proceed,
If peradventure such advice you need --
When of men's characters you speak, beware
Of whom, to whom, and what those speeches are!
Shun the inquisitive: pert fools will prate;
And words once utter'd are recall'd too late.
[tr. Howes (1845)]Moreover, that I may advise you (if in aught you stand in need of an adviser), take great circumspection what you say to any man, and to whom. Avoid an inquisitive impertinent, for such a one is also a tattler, nor do open ears faithfully retain what is intrusted to them; and a word, once sent abroad, flies irrevocably.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]Well, to proceed; beware, if there is room
For warning, what you mention, and to whom;
Avoid a ceaseless questioner; he burns
To tell the next he talks with what he learns;
Wide ears retain no secrets, and you know
You can't get back a word you once let go.
[tr. Conington (1874)]But with my words of warning to proceed.
If haply you a word of warning need!
Ere of a man you tell a thing, think well
To whom you tell it, also what you tell.
The man that pesters you with questions shun --
Tattlers are dangerous, and he is one.
Wide-gaping ears no secrets can retain.
And words once spoken you woo back in vain.
[tr. Martin (1881)]Further let me advise you, if you need advice, to be careful what you say about anybody and to whom you say it. Avoid a gossip. He is always a tattler; his widespread ears do not keep the secrets committed to them, and a word once spoken never returns.
[tr. Dana/Dana (1911)]To continue my advice, if you need advice in aught — think often of what you say, and of whom, and to whom you say it. Avoid a questioner, for he is also a tattler. Open ears will not keep secrets loyally, and the word once let slip flies beyond recall.
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]If my advice regard may claim,
Be tender of another's fame,
And be the man with caution tried
In whose discretion you confide.
Th' impertinent be sure to hate;
Who loves to ask, will love to prate.
Ears, that unfold to every tale,
Intrusted secrets ill conceal,
And you shall wish, but wish in vain,
To call the fleeting words again.
[tr. Murison (1931); ed. Kramer, Jr. (1936)]Let me give you some more advice -- not that you need it.
Becareful of what you say and to whom and of whom.
Steer clear of inquisitive snoopers: they're usually gossips.
Open ears will nto keep safe what's deposited in them,
And a word once launched on its way cannot be revoked.
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]In case you need some more advice, I offer this:
Be careful what you say and to whom, and about whom.
Run from a curious man; he'll love telling others.
Secrets that you trust to open ears won't be well kept,
and once a word escapes, it flies; you can't recall it.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]Another word of advice -- if in fact you need an adviser:
watch what you say, and of which man, and to whom you say it.
Have nothing to do with inquisitive people -- they're also gossips.
You cannot rely on ready ears to contain a secret,
And once a word escapes, it flies beyond recall.
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]On with the advice (if you need any advice):
Always think what you say to whom, and of whom.
Avoid the inquisitive: they’re also garrulous,
Flapping ears can’t be trusted to keep a secret,
And once the word’s let slip, it flies beyond recall.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
When thy next neighbours house is all on fire,
’Tis thy concern to make his flames expire;
For fire will gather strength if let alone,
And with thy neighbours house burn down thine owne.[Nam tua res agitur, paries cum proximus ardet.
Et neglecta solent incendia sumere vires.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Epistles [Epistularum, Letters], Book 1, ep. 18 “To Lollius,” l. 84ff (1.18.84-85) (20 BC) [tr. A. B.; ed. Brome (1666)]
(Source)
On the need to defend friends who are being slandered by others.
(Source (Latin)). Other translations:The case is thyne, thy neighboures house when it doth flame up bright,
And burninges thowght but smal, or now have grown to dreedful might.
[tr. Drant (1567)]For you're in danger when the Next's on fire,
And Flames neglected often blaze the higher.
[tr. Creech (1684)]When flames your neighbour's dwelling seize,
Your own with instant rage shall blaze;
Then haste to stop the spreading fire,
Which, if neglected, rises higher.
[tr. Francis (1747)]He that espies a neighbour's roof on fire
And calmly sees the flames to heaven aspire,
Will find them gather strength, till let alone
They with his neigbour's house burn down his own.
[tr. Howes (1845)]For it is your own concern, when the adjoining wall is on fire: and flames neglected are wont to gain strength.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]No time for sleeping with a fire next door;
Neglect such things, they only blaze the more.
[tr. Conington (1874)]With the next house in flames, best look ahead —
A fire neglected's pretty sure to spread.
[tr. Martin (1881)]For your own business is affected when your neighbor's wall is on fire, and flames neglected gather strength.
[tr. Dana/Dana (1911)]'Tis your own safety that's at stake, when your neighbour's wall is in flames, and fires neglected are wont to gather strength.
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]When flames your neighbor’s dwelling seize,
Your own with instant rage shall blaze;
Then haste to stop the spreading fire,
Which, if neglected, rises higher.
[tr. A. F. Murison (1931); ed. Kramer, Jr. (1936)]When your neighbor's house catches fire, your place is threatened,
And flames that are disregarded usually burn brighter.
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]If your neighbor's house is burning, your own is next;
for fires, if they're not put out, are apt to spread.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]Your own house is in danger when your neighbor's
House is on fire; a fire not watched can spread.
[tr. Ferry (2001)]It's very much your affair when the house next door is ablaze.
Ignore a fire, and soon you're faced with a conflagration.
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]If your neighbour’s roof’s in flames, it’s your business too,
And neglected fires have a habit of gaining strength.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
Years foll’wing Years, steal something ev’ry day,
At last they steal us from our selves away;
In one our Frolicks, one Amusements end,
In one a Mistress drops, in one a Friend:
This subtle Thief of Life, this paltry Time,
What will it leave me, if it snatch my Rhime?[Singula de nobis anni praedantur euntes;
eripuere iocos, Venerem, convivia, ludum;
tendunt extorquere poemata: quid faciam vis?]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Epistles [Epistularum, Letters], Book 2, ep. 2 “To Julius Florus,” l. 55ff (2.2.55-57) (14 BC) [tr. Pope (1737)]
(Source)
(Source (Latin)). Other translations:Howbeit my wyt, which I haue had beginnes for to decay,
And ech yeare plucks away from me as it doth passe away.
My games, my iestes, my lustes, my feastes, from me they made to go,
And now would steale my poems to. what wouldste thou I should do?
[tr. Drant (1567)]I find I'm growing old, and every year
Steals somewhat from me; Venus, Mirth, and Chear,
Begin to lose their Gust; My Wits decline,
And my Poetick vein grows dry with time.
What e're I have been, I am scarse the same,
And will you have me dance now I am lame?
[tr. I. D.; ed. Brome (1666)]On me each circling Year does make a prey,
It steals my Humor, and my Mirth away.
And now at last would steal my Poems too
From my Embrace; what would You have me do?
[tr. Creech (1684)]The waning years apace
Steal off our thoughts, and rifle every grace.
Alas! already have they snatcht away
My jokes, my loves, my revellings, and play.
They strive to wrest my poems from me too,
Instruct me then what method to pursue.
[tr. Francis (1747)]Our joys steal from us, as the years roll on;
Mirth, music, love, and wine are well-nigh gone:
And poesy, 'ere many a sun be past, --
Sweet poesy must be resigned at last.
But what to write?
[tr. Howes (1845)]The advancing years rob us of every thing: they have taken away my mirth, my gallantry, my revelings, and play: they are now proceeding to force poetry from me. What would you have me do?
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]Our years keep taking toll as they move on;
My feasts, my frolics are already gone,
And now, it seems, my verses must go too:
Bestead so sorely, what's a man to do?
[tr. Conington (1874)]Then, too, the years, they rob us, as they run,
Of all things we delight in, one by one;
Sport, love, feast, frolic they have wrenched away,
And verse will follow at no distant day.
Write! Ay, but what?
[tr. Martin (1881)]The rolling years rob us, one by one, of our possessions. They have taken away my jokes, loves, convivialities, sports. They strive to wrench from me my poetry. What do you wish me to write?
[tr. Elgood (1893)]The advancing years rob us of everything; they have taken from me jests, love, banquets and the sports; and now they proceed to take from me my poetry.
What then would you have me do?
[tr. Dana/Dana (1911)]The years, as they pass, plunder us of all joys, one by one. They have stripped me of mirth, love, feasting, play; they are striving to wrest from me my poems. What would you have me do?
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]The years revolving steal from us our powers:
My jests, loves, sports, my taste for festive hours
They’ve torn away; and now my poems, too,
They strive to wrest. What would you have me do?
[tr. Anon.; ed. Kramer, Jr. (1936)]Our pleasures steal off, one by one, with the years,
Which have already snatched my zest for laugyhter and love,
For playing and feasting. And now they're trying to twist
The poems loose from my hand. What can I do?
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]The passing years rob us of our pleasures one by one.
They've taken jokes and sex away, and games and dinners;
now they're clutching at my poems. How can I fight that?
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]One by one the years go by, and one by one they steal
Our pleasures: laughter, love, friendship, fun.
They're taking poetry too -- and what in God's name should I do?
[tr. Raffel (1983)]The years as they go by take everything with them,
One thing after another; they’ve taken away
Laughter, and revelry, and love from me, and now
They want to take poetry. What can I do?
[tr. Ferry (2001)]As the years go by they rob us of one thing after another.
Already they've taken fun, sex, parties and sport;
now they're pulling away my poems. What shall I do then?
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]The passing years steal one thing after another:
They’ve robbed me of fun, love, banquets, sport:
They’re trying to wrest my poems away: what next?
[tr. Kline (2015)]
The covetous man is ever in want.
[Semper avarus eget.]
Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Epistles, Book 1, Epistle 2, l. 56 (c. 20 BC and 14 BC)
With tread imperial, impartial pallid Death
knocks at the doors of cottages and palaces. [Pallida mors æquo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas
Regumque turres.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Odes [Carmina], Book 1, # 4, l. 13ff (1.4.13-14) (23 BC) [tr. Alexander (1999), “To Lucius Sestius”]
(Source)
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:Death knocks as boldly at the Rich mans dore
As at the Cottage of the Poore,
[tr. Fanshaw (1666), "To L. Sextius, a Consular Man"]With equal foot, Rich friend, impartial Fate
Knocks at the Cottage, and the Palace Gate.
[tr. Creech (1684), "He adviseth his Friend to live merrily"]Pale Death, impartial, walks his round: he knocks at cottage-gate
And palace-portal.
[tr. Conington (1872)]Pale death knocks at the cottages of the poor, and the palaces of kings, with an impartial foot.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853), "To Sextius"]Death comes alike to all, — to the monarch's lordly hall,
Or the hovel of the beggar, and his summons none shall stay.
[tr. Martin (1864), "To Sestius"]But all the while, with equal step, pale Death strides on unpausing,
Knocks at thé lowly shed and regal tower.
[tr. Bulwer-Lytton (1870), "To Lucius Sestius"]Pale death, with impartial step, knocks at the hut of the poor and the towers of kings.
[E.g. (1893)]The kingly tower alike
And pauper's hut pale Death will strike.
[tr. Gladstone (1894), "To the Rich Sextius"]Pale Death with foot impartial knocks at poor men's dwellings.
And tow'rs of monarchs.
[tr. Phelps (1897), "To Sestius"]Pale death with foot impartial strikes at the huts of paupers and
Kings' towers.
[tr. Garnsey (1907), "To Sestius"]With equal foot pale Pluto knocks at hovels of the poor,
And at the tyrant's towers
[tr. Marshall (1908), "Spring"]Pale Death with foot impartial knocks at the poor man’s cottage and at princes’ palaces.
[tr. Bennett (Loeb) (1912), "Spring's Lesson"]Marching with step impartial, Death's pale Presence raps its call
At doors of rich and poor alike.
[tr. Mills (1924)]Hold! Pale Death, at the poor man's shack and the pasha's palace kicking
Impartially, announces his arrival.
[tr. Michie (1964)]Death raps his bony knuckles, bleached,
Indifferent, on any man’s door, a palace or a hut.
[tr. Raffel (1983)]Revenant white-faced Death is walking not knowing whether
He's going to knock at a rich man's door or a poor man's.
[tr. Ferry (1997)]Pale death knocks with impartial foot, at the door of the poor man’s cottage,
and at the prince’s gate.
[tr. Kline (2015), "Spring"]
O my brave men! stout hearts of mine!
who often have suffered worse calamities with me.
let us now drown your cares in wine.
Tomorrow we venture once again upon the boundless sea.[O fortes peioraque passi
mecum saepe viri, nunc vino pellite curas;
cras ingens iterabimus aequor.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Odes [Carmina], Book 1, # 7, l. 30ff (1.7.30-32) (23 BC) [tr. Alexander (1999)]
(Source)
To L. Munatius Plancus. Quoting Teucer to his crew on his being exiled from Salamis.
Quoted in Montaigne, 3.13 "On Experience" (immediately following this).
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:Brave Spirits, who with me have suffer'd sorrow,
Drink cares away; wee'l set up sails to-morrow.
[tr. "Sir T. H.," Brome (1666)]Cheer, rouze your force,
For We have often suffer'd worse:
Drink briskly round, dispell all cloudy sorrow,
Drink round, Wee'l plow the Deep to-morrow.
[tr. Creech (1684)]Hearts, that have borne with me
Worse buffets! drown today in wine your care;
To-morrow we recross the wide, wide sea!
[tr. Conington (1872)]O gallant heroes, and often my fellow-sufferers in greater hardships than these, now drive away your cares with wine: to-morrow we will re-visit the vast ocean.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]Now, ye brave hearts, that have weather'd
Many a sorer strait with me,
Chase your cares with wine, — to-morrow
We shall plough the mighty sea!
[tr. Martin (1864)]Brave friends who have borne with me often
Worse things as men, let the wine chase to-day every care from the bosom,
To-morrow -- again the great Sea Plains.
[tr. Bulwer-Lytton (1870)]My comrades bold, to worse than this
Inured, to-morrow brave the vasty brine,
But drown to-day your cares in wine.
[tr. Gladstone (1894)]O brave friends, who have oft with your leader
Suffer'd worse trials, cheer up, let sorrows dissolve in the wine-cup,
We will try the vast ocean to-morrow.
[tr. Phelps (1897)]O brave men, often worse things ye with me
Have borne, now drive with wine your cares away,
To-morrow we will sail the wide sea once again.
[tr. Garnsey (1907)]To-night with wine drown care,
Friends oft who've braved worse things with me than these;
At morn o'er the wide sea once more we'll fare!
[tr. Marshall (1908)]O ye brave heroes, who with me have often suffered worse misfiprtunes, now banish care with wine! To-morrow we will take again our course over the mighty main.
[tr. Bennett (Loeb) (1912)]With wine now banish care;
Worse things we've known, brave hearts; once more
we'll plough the main tomorrow morn.
[tr. Mills (1924)]You who have stayed by me through worse disasters,
Heroes, come, drink deep, let wine extinguish our sorrows.
We take the huge sea on again tomorrow.
[tr. Michie (1964)]O my brave fellows who have gone through worse
Than this with me, now with the help of wine
Let's put aside our troubles for a while.
Tomorrow we set out on the vast ocean.
[tr. Ferry (1997)]O you brave heroes, you
who suffered worse with me often, drown your cares with wine:
tomorrow we’ll sail the wide seas again.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
Pry not, the morrow’s chance to learn:
Set down to gain whatever turn
The wheel may take.
[Quid sit futurum cras, fuge quaerere, et
quem fors dierum cumque dabit, lucro
adpone.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Odes [Carmina], Book 1, # 9, l. 13ff (1.9.13-15) (23 BC) [tr. Gladstone (1894)]
(Source)
To Thaliarchus.
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:Upon to Morrow reckon not,
Then if it comes 'tis clearly got.
[Fanshaw (1666)]All Cares, and Fears are fond and vain,
Fly vexing thoughts of dark to-morrow;
What Chance scores up, count perfect gain,
And banish business, banish sorrow.
[tr. Creech (1684)]To-morrow and her works defy,
Lay hold upon the present hour,
And snatch the pleasures passing by,
To put them out of fortune's power:
[tr. Dryden (c. 1685)]O, ask not what the morn will bring,
But count as gain each day that chance
May give you.
[tr. Conington (1872)]Avoid inquiring what may happen to-morrow; and whatever day fortune shall bestow on you, score it up for gain.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]Let not to-morrow's change or chance
Perplex thee, but as gain
Count each new day!
[tr. Martin (1864)]Shun to seek what is hid in the womb of the morrow;
Count the lot of each day as clear gain in life’s ledger.
[tr. Bulwer-Lytton (1870)]What brings to-morrow care not to ask, and what
Fortune each day may bring, set it down as gain.
[tr. Phelps (1897)]What is to be to-morrow do not ask: appraise
As gain the course of days Fortune will yield.
[tr. Garnsey (1907)]What next morn's sun may bring, forbear to ask;
But count each day that comes by gift of chance
So much to the good.
[tr. Marshall (1908)]Cease to ask what the morrow will bring forth, and set down as gain each day that Fortune grants!
[tr. Bennett (Loeb) (1912)]Ask not the morrow's good or ill;
Reckon it gain however chance
May shape each day.
[tr. Mills (1924)]Try not to guess what lies in the future, but
As Fortune deals days enter them into your
Life's book as windfalls, credit items,
Gratefully.
[tr. Michie (1963)]Stop wondering after tomorrow: take
Day by day the days you’re granted.
[tr. Raffel (1983)]Cease to ask what tomorrow may bring
and count as gain whatever Fortune grants you today.
[tr. Alexander (1999)]Don’t ask what tomorrow brings, call them your gain
whatever days Fortune gives.
[tr. Kline (2015)]Leave off asking what tomorrow will bring, and
whatever days fortune will give, count them
as profit.
[tr. Wikisource (2021)]
Don’t spurn sweet love,
my child, and don’t you be neglectful
of the choir of love, or the dancing feet,
while life is still green, and your white-haired old age
is far away with all its moroseness. Now,
find the Campus again, and the squares,
soft whispers at night, at the hour agreed,
and the pleasing laugh that betrays her, the girl
who’s hiding away in the darkest corner,
and the pledge that’s retrieved from her arm,
or from a lightly resisting finger.
[Nec dulcis amores
sperne puer neque tu choreas,
donec virenti canities abest
morosa. Nunc et campus et areae
lenesque sub noctem susurri
conposita repetantur hora,
nunc et latentis proditor intumo
gratus puellae risus ab angulo
pignusque dereptum lacertis
aut digito male pertinaci.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Odes [Carmina], Book 1, # 9, l. 15ff (1.9.15-24) (23 BC) [tr. Kline (2015)]
(Source)
"To Thaliarchus." (Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:Till testy Age gray Hairs shall snow
Upon thy Head, lose Mask, nor Show:
Soft whispers now delight
At a set hour by Night:
And Maids that gigle to discover
Where they are hidden to a Lover;
And Bracelets or some toy
Snatcht from the willing Coy.
[tr. Fanshaw (Brome (1666))]Secure those golden early joys,
That youth unsoured with sorrow bears,
Ere withering time the taste destroys,
With sickness and unwieldy years.
For active sports, for pleasing rest,
This is the time to be possest;
The best is but in season best.
The appointed hour of promised bliss,
The pleasing whisper in the dark,
The half unwilling willing kiss,
The laugh that guides thee to the mark;
When the kind nymph would coyness feign,
And hides but to be found again;
These, these are joys the gods for youth ordain.
[tr. Dryden (c. 1685)]Whilst Thou art green, and gay, and Young,
E're dull Age comes, and strength decays,
Let mirth, and humor, dance, and song
Be all the trouble of thy days.
The Court, the Mall, the Park, and Stage,
With eager thoughts of Love pursue;
Gay Evening whispers fit thy Age,
And be to Assignation true.
Now Love to hear the hiding Maid,
Whom Youth hath fir'd, and Beauty charms
By her own tittering laugh betray'd,
And forc'd into her Lover's Arms.
Go dally with thy wanton Miss,
And from the Willing seeming Coy,
Or force a Ring, or steal a Kiss;
For Age will come, and then farewell to joy.
[tr. Creech (1684)]Sport in life's young spring,
Nor scorn sweet love, nor merry dance,
While years are green, while sullen eld
Is distant. Now the walk, the game,
The whisper'd talk at sunset held,
Each in its hour, prefer their claim.
Sweet too the laugh, whose feign'd alarm
The hiding-place of beauty tells,
The token, ravish'd from the arm
Or finger, that but ill rebels.
[tr. Conington (1872)]Nor disdain, being a young fellow, pleasant loves, nor dances, as long as ill-natured hoariness keeps off from your blooming age. Now let both the Campus Martius and the public walks, and soft whispers at the approach of evening be repeated at the appointed hour: now, too, the delightful laugh, the betrayer of the lurking damsel from some secret corner, and the token ravished from her arms or fingers, pretendingly tenacious of it.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]Let beauty's glance
Engage thee, and the merry dance,
Nor deem such pleasures vain!
Gloom is for age. Young hearts should glow
With fancies bright and free,
Should court the crowded walk, the show,
And at dim eve love's murmurs low
Beneath the trysting tree;
The laugh from the sly corner, where
Our girl is hiding fast,
The struggle for the lock of hair,
The half well pleased, half angry air,
The yielded kiss at last.
[tr. Martin (1864)]Spurn not, thou, who art young, dulcet loves;
Spurn not, thou, choral dances and song
While the hoar-frost morose keeps aloof from thy verdure.
Thine the sports of the Campus, the gay public gardens;
Thine at twilight the words whispered low;
Each in turn has its own happy hour:
And thine the sweet laugh of the girl -- which betrays her
Hiding slyly within the dim nook of the threshold,
And the love-token snatched from the wrist,
Or the finger's not obstinate hold.
[tr. Bulwer-Lytton (1870)]Youth must not spurn
Sweet loves, nor yet the dance forsake,
While grudging Age thy prime shall spare.
The Plain, the Squares, be now thy care,
And lounges, dear at nightfall, where
By concert love may whisper 'Hist!'
From inner nook a winsome smile
Betrays the girl that sculks the while,
And keepsakes, deftly filched by guile
From yielding finger, or from wrist.
[tr. Gladstone (1894)]Nor, while thy vigour lasts, despise thou
Pleasures of love, nor the joys of dancing.
While the moroseness due to advancing age
Whitens not yet thy head, let the walks and park
And gentle whispers heard at nightfall
Each be repeated at fitting seasons.
Now, too, the pleasant laughter be heard, that tells
How lurking beauty hides in the corner-nook,
And token ravish'd from the arm, or
Finger, that daintily seems unwilling.
[tr. Phelps (1897)]Being but yet a youth, contemn
Neither the sweets of love nor of the dance,
While from your bloom crabbed greyness holds aloof.
Now let the Campus and the city squares,
And whispers low, be sought at nightfall,
On the appointed hour of tryst;
And now the fascinating laugh from some recess
Secluded, the betrayer of a maid
In hiding, and the pledge snatched off
An arm or finger ill retaining it.
[tr. Garnsey (1907)]Spurn not the dance,
Or in sweet loves to bask,
While surly age mars not thy morning's flower.
Seek now the athlete's training field or court;
See gentle lovers' whispered sport,
At nightfalls's trysted hour;
Seek the gay laught that from her ambush borne
Betrays the merry maiden huddled warm,
And forfeit from her hand or arm
Half given, half playful torn.
[tr. Marshall (1908)]Nor in thy youth neglect sweet love nor dances, whilst life is still in its bloom and crabbed age is far away! Now let the Campus be sought and the squares, with low whispers at the trysting-hour as night draws on, and the merry tell-tale laugh of maiden hiding in farthest comer, and the forfeit snatched from her arm or finger that but feigns resistance.
[tr. Bennett (Loeb) (1912)]Scorn not, while still
A boy, sweet loves; scorn not the dance.
Life in its Spring, and crabbed eld
Far off -- that is the time; then hey
For Park, Square, whispered concerts held
At a set hour at close of day:
For the sweet laugh whose soft alarm
Tells in what nook the maid lies hid:
For the love-token snatched from arm,
Of fingers that but half-forbid.
[tr. Mills (1924)]Now that you're young, and peevish
Grey hairs are still far distant, attend to the
Dance-floor, the heart's sweet business; for now is the
Right time for midnight assignations,
whispers and murmurs in Rome's piazzas
And fields, and soft, low laughter that gives away
The girl who plays love's games in a hiding-place --
Off comes a ring coaxed down an arm or
Pulled from a faintly resisting finger.
[tr. Michie (1963)]Take love while you're young and you can,
Laugh, dance,
Before time takes your chances
Away. Stroll where baths, where theaters
Bring Romans to walk, to talk, where whispers
Flit through the darkness as lovers meet,
And girls laugh from hidden corners,
Happy as favors
Are snatched in the darkness, laugh
And pretend to say no.
[tr. Raffel (1983)]While you're still young,
And while morose old age is far away,
There's love, there are parties, there's dancing and there's music,
There are young people out in the city squares together
As evening comes on, there are whispers of lovers, there's laughter.
[tr. Ferry (1997)]Do not disdain, boy, sweet love; and dance
while you are yet in bloom, and crabbed age far away.
Now frequent the Campus Martius
and public ways, and pizzas where soft whispers
are repeated at the trysting hour
and where the suffocated laughter of a girl
lurking in a corner reveals
secret betrayal and the forfeit
snatched away from a wrist
or from a finger, scarcely resisting.
[tr. Alexander (1999)]And while you're young don't scorn
sweet love affairs and dances,
so long as crabbed old age is far from
your vigor. Now let the playing field and the
public squares and soft whisperings at nightfall
(the appointed hour) be your pursuits;
now too the sweet laughter of a girl hiding
in a secret corner, which gives her away,
and a pledge snatched from her wrists
or her feebly resisting finger.
[tr. Wikisource (2021)]
In the moment of our talking, envious time has ebb’d away.
Seize the present; trust tomorrow e’en as little as you may.
[Dum loquimur, fugerit invida
aetas: carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Odes [Carmina], Book 1, # 11, l. 8ff (1.11.8-9) (23 BC) [tr. Conington (1872)]
Often titled "To Leuconoë." This is the source of the famous phrase, "carpe diem," commonly translated "seize the day." Many scholars give it a more horticultural spin, to harvest the day now, while it is ripe. More discussion here. More quotations along this theme here.
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:Whilest we are talking, envious Time doth slide:
This day's thine own, the next may be deny'd.
[tr. Sir T. H.; ed. Brome (1666)]Time, while we speak on't flyes; now banish sorrow,
Live well to day, and never trust to morrow.
[tr. S. W., Esq.; ed. Brome (1666)]E'en whil'st we speak the Envious time
Doth make swift hast away,
Then seize the present, use thy prime,
Nor trust another Day.
[tr. Creech (1684)]While we are conversing, envious age has been flying; seize the present day, not giving the least credit to the succeeding one.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]Use all life's powers,
The envious hours
Fly as we talk ; then live to-day,
Nor fondly to to-morrow trust more than you must and may.
[tr. Martin (1864)]While we talk, grudging Time will be gone, and a part of ourselves be no more.
Seize to-day -- for the morrow it is in which thy belief should be least.
[tr. Bulwer-Lytton (1870)]Our span is brief. The niggard hour,
in chatting, ebbs away;
Trust nothing for to-morrow's sun:
make harvest of to-day.
[tr. Gladstone (1894)]E'en while we speak, envious life will fly; --
So make use of to-day, trusting the next, little as possible.
[tr. Phelps (1897)]While we are talking envious time steals on:
Catch to-day's joy and give the morrow but a minimum of trust.
[tr. Garnsey (1907)]Ev'n as we speak, grim Time
speeds swift away;
Seize now and here the hour that is. nor trust
some later day!
[tr. Marshall (1908)]Even while we speak, envious Time has sped. Reap the harvest of to-day, putting as little trust as may be in the morrow!
[tr. Bennett (Loeb) (1912)]E'en while we speak time, grudging time, has fled; snatch eagerly
Each day, and trust the morrow's grace as little as may be.
[tr. Mills (1924)]Even while
We talk Time, hateful, runs a mile.
Don't trust tomorrow's bough
For fruit. Pluck this, here, now.
[tr. Michie (1963)]Time goes running, even
As we talk. Take the present, the future's no one's affair.
[tr. Raffel (1983)]Now as I say these words,
Time has already fled
Backwards away --
Leuconoe --
Hold on to the day.
[tr. Ferry (1997)]While we converse, envious time will have vanished: harvest
Today, placing the least credence on what’s to come.
[tr. Willett (1998)]Even as we speak, envious Time is fleeing.
Seize the day: entrusting as little as possible to tomorrow.
[tr. Alexander (1999)]The envious moment is flying now, now, while we’re speaking:
Seize the day, place in the hours that come as little faith as you can.
[tr. Kline (2015)]While we are speaking, envious life
will have fled: seize the day, trusting the future as little as possible.
[tr. Wikisource (2021)]
Apollo: all I ask is what I own already,
And the peace to enjoy it, sound in body
And mind, and a promise of honor
In old age, and to go on singing to the end.[Frui paratis et valido mihi
Latoë, dones, et precor, integra
Cum mente; nec turpem senectam
Degere, nec cithara carentem.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Odes [Carmina], Book 1, # 31, l. 17ff (1.31.17-20) (23 BC) [tr. Raffel (1983)]
(Source)
This poem is said to have been inspired by the new temple to Apollo built by Augustus on the Palatine in AUC 726. It is framed as being from a poet (likely Horace himself) considering what to ask from Apollo as a blessing. These are the concluding four lines.
Apollo here is referred to as the son of the goddess Latona (Greek Leto).
The reason for the longer-than-usual list of translators is that this passage is quoted at the end of Montaigne's Essays, Book 3, ch. 13 "Of Experience," the final essay in his collection, written in 1587, and translations from that context are also included here.(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:Apollo graunt, enjoy health I may
That I have got, and with sound minde, I pray:
Nor that I may with shame spend my old yeares,
Nor wanting musike to delight mine eares.
[tr. Florio (1603)]Latona's Son,
In Minde and Bodies health my own
T' enjoy; old Age from dotage free,
And solac'd with the Lute, give me.
[tr. Fanshaw; ed. Brome (1666)]O (great Apollo) grant
To me in health, and free from life's annoy,
Things native, and soon gotten to enjoy;
And with a mind compos'd old Age attain,
Not loathsome, nor depriv'd of Lyrick strain.
[tr. "Sir T. H."; ed. Brome (1666)]A Mind to use my present Store
With Health and Life, but not so long
As brings Contempt, or cramps my Song;
Grant this Apollo, and I ask no more.
[tr. Creech (1684)]O thou son of Latona, grant me to enjoy my acquisitions, and to possess my health, together with an unimpaired understanding, I beseech thee; and that I may not lead a dishonorable old age, nor one bereft of the lyre.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]O grant me, Phoebus, calm content,
Strength unimpairEd, a mind entire,
Old age without dishonour spent,
Nor unbefriended by the lyre!
[tr. Conington (1872)]And health
Give thou, Latoë, so I might
Enjoy my present wealth!
Give me but these, I ask no more,
These, and a mind entire --
And old age, not unhonour'd, nor
Unsolaced by the lyre!
[tr. Martin (1864)]Give me health in myself to enjoy the things granted,
O thou son of Latona; sound mind in sound body;
Keep mine age free from all that degrades,
And let it not fail of the lyre.
[tr. Bulwer-Lytton (1870)]Grant it to me, Apollo, that I may enjoy what I have in good health; let me be sound in body and mind; let me live in honor when old, nor let music be wanting.
[tr. Cotton/Hazlitt (1877)]Grant it to me, Apollo, that I may enjoy my possessions in good health; let me be sound in mind; let me not lead a dishonourable old age, nor want the cittern.
[tr. Cotton/Hazlitt (1877), alternate]Son of Latona, grant me, I pray, to enjoy in health of body and soundness of mind what I possess, and let my old age be honourable and rendered happy by the charms of music.
[tr. Elgood (1893)]Give me then health, Apollo; give
Sound mind; on gotten goods to live
Contented; and let song engage
An honoured, not a base, old age.
[tr. Gladstone (1894)]Health to enjoy the blessings thou givest me,
Grant me, Latoe, with a sound mind, I pray;
Nor let my age be e'er unhonour'd.
Nor unattended with lyric measures.
[tr. Phelps (1897)]Grant me in health to relish what I have
In store, Latona's son, with mind I pray,
Unclouded -- and to pass an eld
Not base, nor of my harp deprived.
[tr. Garnsey (1907)]Grant, god, that with my lot
I live content, hale, and still fresh my gift, --
Grant that in age I may not drift
Long years, my lyre forgot.
[tr. Marshall (1908)]Grant me, O Latona’s son, to be content with what I have, and, sound of body and of mind, to pass an old age lacking neither honour nor the lyre!
[tr. Bennett (Loeb) (1912)]Grant me, Apollo, for the rest,
Contentment, health, sound wits and bright,
An honoured eld, by music blest.
[tr. Mills (1924)]Grant, I pray, son of Latona, that I enjoy full health, and with mind uunimpaired, the goods that have been prepared for me; and that my old age be not unhonoured, nor lack the lyre.
[tr. Ives (1925)]Grant me, Latona's son, but health,
Grant me a mind entire,
Contentment and a dignified old age,
Not lacking in the sweetness of the lyre.
[tr. Zeitlin (1934)]Grant me but health, Latona's son,
And to enjoy the wealth I've won,
And honored age, with mind entire
And not unsolaced by the lyre.
[tr. Frame (1943)]Delight had I healthily in what lay handy provided.
Grant me now, Latoe:
full wit in my cleanly age,
Nor lyre lack me, to tune the page.
[tr. Pound (c. 1955)]Grant me, Apollo, that I may enjoy with healthy body and sound mind the goods that have been prepared for me, and that my old age be honourable and no stranger to the lyre.
[tr. Cohen (1958)]Here's what I crave most, son of Latona, then:
Good health, a sound mind, relish of life, and an
Old age that still maintains a stylish
Grip on itself and the lyric metres.
[tr. Michie (1963)]Vouchsafe, O Son of Latona, that I may enjoy those things I have prepared; and, with my mind instact I pray, may I not degenerate into a squalid senility, in which the lyre is wanting.
[tr. Screech (1987)]Apollo grant that I be satisfied
With what I have as what I ought to have,
And that I live my old age out with honor,
In health of mind and body, doing my work.
[tr. Ferry (1997)]Grant me, O son of Latona, I pray
that I take joy in what I have
Sound in mind and body entire
and my old age lacking neither honor nor lyre.
[tr. Alexander (1999)]Apollo, the son
of Latona, let me enjoy what I have,
and, healthy in body and mind, as I ask,
live an old age not without honour,
and one not lacking the art of the lyre.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
Drink! O friends, stamp wild
Bare feet on the ground.[Nunc est bibendum, nunc pede libero
pulsanda tellus.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Odes [Carmina], Book 1, # 37, l. 1ff (1.37.1-2) (23 BC) [tr. Raffel (1983)]
(Source)
A light-hearted opening for a celebration of Caesar's success at the battle of Actium and the defeat and death of Cleopatra (and, not mentioned, Marc Antony).
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:Now let us drink, now dance (Companions) now.
[tr. Sir T. H.; ed. Brome (1666)]Now now tis time to dance and play,
And drink, and frollick all the Day.
[tr. Creech (1684)]Now drink we deep, now featly tread
A measure.
[tr. Conington (1872)]Now, my companions, is the time to carouse, now to beat the ground with a light foot.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]Now, comrades, fill each goblet to the brim,
Now, now with bounding footsteps strike the ground.
[tr. Martin (1864)]Drink, companions, the moment has come for carousal,
And the foot is now free to strike earth in brisk measures.
[tr. Bulwer-Lytton (1870)]'Tis time we drink, 'tis time we dance.
[tr. Gladstone (1894)]Now is the time to quaff, and to beat the ground
With foot untrammell'd.
[tr. Phelps (1897)]Now 'tis to drink: now with free foot
To smite the ground.
[tr. Garnsey (1907)]Now 'tis the hour for wine, now without check
To trip it gaily.
[tr. Marshall (1908)]Now is the time to drain the flowing bowl, now with unfettered foot to beat the ground with dancing.
[tr. Bennett (Loeb) (1912)]Bumpers! Let free foot beat the earth!
To drink, dance ....
[tr. Mills (1924)]Now drink and dance, my comrades.
[tr. Edgar (1893)]Today is the day to drink and dance on. Dance, then,
Merrily, friends, till the earth shakes.
[tr. Michie (1963)]At last the day has come for celebration,
For dancing and for drinking.
[tr. Ferry (1997)]To drinking now, now all to the nimble foot
that beats the earth.
[tr. Willett (1998)]Now is the time for drinking, O my friends!
Now with a free foot beating the earth in dance!
[tr. Alexander (1999)]Now’s the time for drinking deep, and now’s the time
to beat the earth with unfettered feet.
[tr. Kline (2015)]Now it is time to drink; now with loose feet
it is time for beating the earth.
[tr. Wikisource (2021)]
Brace thee, my friend, when times are hard, to show
A mind unmoved; nor less, when fair thy state,
A sober joy. For Death doth wait
As surely, whether woe
Dogs all thy days, or fortune bids thee bask
On peaceful lawn reclined while life goes well,
And quaff thy wine, from inner cell
Drawn at Falernian cask.[Aequam memento rebus in arduis
servare mentem, non secus in bonis
ab insolenti temperatam
laetitia, moriture Delli,
seu maestus omni tempore vixeris
seu te in remoto gramine per dies
festos reclinatum bearis
interiore nota Falerni.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Odes [Carmina], Book 2, # 3, l. 1ff (2.3.1-8) (23 BC) [tr. Marshall (1908)]
(Source)
Generally believed to be addressed to Quintus Dellius, but some scholars point to an older manuscript that refers to "Gelli" rather than "Delli," which then fits into various theories about themes in in Horace's works.
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:Keep still an equal minde, not sunk
With stormes of adverse chance, not drunk
With sweet Prosperitie,
O Dellius that must die,
Whether thou live still melancholy,
Or stretcht in a retired valley;
Make all thy howers merry
With bowls of choicest Sherrie.
[tr. Sir R. Fanshaw; ed. Brome (1666)]An even mind in every State,
Amidst the Frowns and Smiles of Fate,
Dear mortal Delius always show;
Let not too much of cloudy Fear,
Nor too intemperate joys appear
Or to contract, or to extend thy Brow:
Whether thy dull unhappy Years
Run slowly clog'd with Hopes and Fears,
And sit too heavy on thy Soul;
Or whether crown'd on Beds of Flowers
Mirth softly drives thy easy hours
And cheers thy Spirits with the choicest Bowl.
[tr. Creech (1684)]An equal mind, when storms o'ercloud,
Maintain, nor 'neath a brighter sky
Let pleasure make your heart too proud,
O Dellius, Dellius! sure to die,
Whether in gloom you spend each year,
Or through long holydays at ease
In grassy nook your spirit cheer
With old Falernian vintages.
[tr. Conington (1872)]O Dellius, since thou art born to die, be mindful to preserve a temper of mind even in times of difficulty, as well an restrained from insolent exultation in prosperity: whether thou shalt lead a life of continual sadness, or through happy days regale thyself with Falernian wine of the oldest date, at ease reclined in some grassy retreat.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]Let not the frowns of fate
Disquiet thee, my friend,
Nor, when she smiles on thee, do thou, elate
With vaunting thoughts, ascend
Beyond the limits of becoming mirth,
For, Dellius, thou must die, become a clod of earth!
Whether thy days go down
In gloom, and dull regrets.
Or, shunning life's vain struggle for renown,
Its fever and its frets,
Stretch'd on the grass, with old Falernian wine.
Thou giv'st the thoughtless hours a rapture all divine.
[tr. Martin (1864)]With a mind undisturbed take life's good and life's evil,
Temper grief from despair, temper joy from vainglory;
For, through each mortal change, equal mind,
O my Dellius, befits mortal-born,
Whether all that is left thee of life be but trouble,
Or, reclined at thine ease amid grassy recesses,
Thy Falernian, the choicest, records
How serenely the holidays glide.
[tr. Bulwer-Lytton (1870)]An even mind in days of care,
And in thy days of joy to bear
A chastened mood, remember: why?
'Tis, Dellius, that thou hast to die.
Alike, if all thy life be sad,
Or festal season find thee glad,
On the lone turf at ease recline,
And quaff thy best Falernian wine.
[tr. Gladstone (1894)]See thou preserve a true equanimity
In seasons adverse, and in prosperity
A mind restrain'd from overweening
Joy, for, my Dellius, thou art mortal!
Whether in sorrow all thy life long thou live,
Or in a distant glade on some holiday,
Thou lie at ease, the summer day long,
Quaffing the specially-mark'd Falernian.
[tr. Phelps (1897)]An even mind remember to preserve
In arduous times, conversely, in the good
One tinctured with no overweening joy.
For you will die (Gillo)
Whether you live at all times sad,
Or whether on distant lawn reclined
Through days of feast you are made glorious
From inmost cellar of Falernian.
[tr. Garnsey (1907)]Remember, when life’s path is steep, to keep an even mind, and likewise, in prosperity, a spirit restrained from over-weening joy, Dellius, seeing thou art doomed to die, whether thou live always sad, or reclining in grassy nook take delight on holidays in some choice vintage of Falernian wine.
[tr. Bennett (Loeb) (1912)]Remember, Dellius, doomed to die
Some day, to keep a level mind
When times are hard, nor pridefully
Exalt your horn when Fate seems kind --
Aye, doomed to die, whether each dawn
Renews your griefs, or days of rest
Comfort you, couched on some far lawn,
With old Falernian of the best.
[tr. Mills (1924)]Maintain an unmoved poise in adversity;
Likewise in luck one free of extravagant
Joy. Bear in mind my admonition,
Dellius. Whether you pass a lifetime
Prostrate with gloom, or whether you celebrate
Feast-days with choice old brands of Falernian,
Stretched out in some green, unfrequented
Meadow, remember your death is certain.
[tr. Michie (1963)]Remember, Dellius: keep yourself in
Balance when it’s hard, keep yourself in
Balance when all of it comes your way,
All of us destined to die
Whether we live forever sad
Or always lying in some grassy spot,
Celebrating life away
With a jug of choice Falernian.
[tr. Raffel (1983)]When things are bad, be steady in your mind;
Dellius, don't be
Too unrestrainedly joyful in good fortune.
You are going to die.
It doesn't matter at all whether you spend
Your days and nights in sorrow,
Or, on the other hand, in holiday pleasure,
Drinking Falernian wine
Of an excellent vintage year, on the river bank.
[tr. Ferry (1997)]Remember, entrapped in life’s bitter maze,
to keep an even mind. Even in prosperity
do not give way to unbridled joy.
Remember, you must die, O Dellius,
Whether you live always embrued in melancholy
or languidly laying in a far-off meadow
on festive days, you take delight in
some choice vintage of Falernian wine.
[tr. Alexander (1999)]When things are troublesome, always remember,
keep an even mind, and in prosperity
be careful of too much happiness:
since my Dellius, you’re destined to die,
whether you live a life that’s always sad,
or reclining, privately, on distant lawns,
in one long holiday, take delight
in drinking your vintage Falernian.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
Licinius, trust a seaman’s lore:
Steer not too boldly to the deep,
Nor, fearing storms, by treacherous shore
Too closely creep.
Who makes the golden mean his guide,
Shuns miser’s cabin, foul and dark,
Shuns gilded roofs, where pomp and pride
Are envy’s mark.
[Rectius vives, Licini, neque altum
semper urgendo neque, dum procellas
cautus horrescis, nimium premendo
litus iniquum.
Auream quisquis mediocritatem
diligit, tutus caret obsoleti
sordibus tecti, caret invidenda
sobrius aula.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Odes [Carmina], Book 2, # 10, l. 1ff (2.10.1-8) (23 BC) [tr. Conington (1872)]
(Source)
To Licinius Varro Murena, who was later executed as a conspirator against Augustus.
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:The safest way of life, is neither
To tempt the Deeps, nor whilst foul weather
You fearfully avoid, too near
The shore to steer.
He that affects the Golden Mean,
Will neither want a house that's clean,
Nor swell unto the place of showres
His envy'd Towres.
[tr. Fanshaw; ed. Brome (1666)]Wise they, that with a cautious fear
Not always thro the Ocean Steer,
Nor, whilst they think the Winds will roar,
Do thrust too near the rocky Shore:
To those that choose the golden Mean:
The Waves are smooth, the Skies serene;
They want the baseness of the Poors retreat,
And envy'd Houses of the Great.
[tr. Creech (1684)]Receive, dear friend, the truths I teach,
So shalt thou live beyond the reach
Of adverse fortunes pow'r;
Not always tempt the distant deep,
Nor always timorously creep
Along the treach'rous shore.
He that holds fast the golden mean,
And lives contentedly between
The little and the great,
Feels not the wants that pinch the poor,
Nor plagues that haunt the rich man's door,
Imbitt'ring all his state.
[tr. Cowper (1782?)]O Licinius, you will lead a more correct course of life, by neither always pursuing the main ocean, nor, while you cautiously are in dread of storms, by pressing too much upon the hazardous shore. Whosoever loves the golden mean, is secure from the sordidness of an antiquated cell, and is too prudent to have a palace that might expose him to envy.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]If thou wouldst live secure and free,
Thou wilt not keep far out at sea,
Licinius, evermore;
Nor, fearful of the gales that sweep
The ocean wide, too closely creep
Along the treacherous shore.
The man, who with a soul serene
Doth cultivate the golden mean,
Escapes alike from all
The squalor of a sordid cot,
And from the jealousies begot
By wealth in lordly hall.
[tr. Martin (1864)]Licinius, wouldst thou steer life's wiser voyage,
Neither launch always into deep mid-waters,
Nor hug the shores, and, shrinking from the tempest,
Hazard the quicksand.
He who elects the golden mean of fortune,
Nor where dull squalor rots the time-worn hovel,
Nor where fierce envy storms the new-built palace,
Makes his safe dwelling.
[tr. Bulwer-Lytton (1870)]Neither always tempt the deep,
Nor, Licinius, always keep,
Fearing storms, the slippery beach:
Such the rule of life I teach.
Golden is the middle state;
Love the middle gifts of fate,
Not the sloven squalid cot,
Proud and envied palace not.
[tr. Gladstone (1894)]Better, Licinius, wilt thou live, by neither
Tempting the deep for ever, nor, while tempests
Cautiously shunning, by too closely hugging
Shores that are treach'rous.
He who the golden mean adopts, is ever
Free from the sorrows of a squalid dwelling; --
Free from the cares attending on the envied
Halls of the wealthy.
[tr. Phelps (1897)]Licinius, better wilt thou live by neither urging
Alway out to sea, nor, while on guard 'gainst storms
Thou shudderest, by pressing an evil shore
Too close.
Whoever courts a golden mean is safe
To escape the squalor of a mouldered roof.
And shrewd to escape a paJace that may
Be grudged to him.
[tr. Garnsey (1907)]Safer thou'lt sail life's voyage, if them steer
Neither right out to sea, nor yet, when rise
The threat'ning tempests, hug the shore too near,
Unwisely wise.
What man soe'er the golden mean doth choose,
Prudent will shun the hovel's foul decay;
But with like sense, a palace will refuse
And vain display.
[tr. Marshall (1908)]Better wilt thou live, Licinius, by neither always pressing out to sea nor too closely hugging the dangerous shore in cautious fear of storms. Whoso cherishes the golden mean, safely avoids the foulness of an ill-kept house and discreetly, too, avoids a hall exciting envy.
[tr. Bennett (Loeb) (1912)]Licinius, would you live aright,
Tempt not the high seas evermore,
Nor, fearing tempests, in your fright
Too closely hug the dangerous shore.
Who loves the golden mean is free
And safe from grime -- the grime a house
Harbours in eld; his modesty
Earns not the envy mansions rouse.
[tr. Mills (1924)]Sail not too far to be safe, O Licinius!
Neither too close to the shore should you steer.
Rashness is foolish, and how ignominious
Cowardly fear!
He who possesses neither palace nor hovel
(My little flat would be half way between)
Hasn't a house at which paupers must grovel
Yet it is clean.
[tr. Adams (1928)]Licinius, to live wisely shun
The deep sea; on the other hand,
Straining to dodge the storm don't run
Too close in to the jagged land.
All who love safety make their prize
The golden mean and hate extremes:
Mansions are envied for their size,
Slums pitied for their rotting beams.
[tr. Michie (1963)]Licinius, life makes better sense
Lived neither pushing farther and farther
To sea, nor always hugging the dangerous
Shore, shaking at the thought of storms.
Cherish a golden mean and stay
Exempt from a filthy hovel
And exempt from the envy
A mansion excites.
[tr. Raffel (1983)]You'll do better, Licinius, not to spend your life
Venturing too far out on the dangerous waters,
Or else, for fear of storms, staying too close in
To the dangerous rocky shoreline, That man does best
Who chooses the middle way, so he doesn't end up
Living under a roof that's going to ruin
Or in some gorgeous mansion everyone envies.
[tr. Ferry (1997)]Better will you live, O Licinius, not always urging yourself out upon the high seas, nor ever hugging the insidious shore in fear of storms. He who esteems the golden mean safely avoids the squalor of a wretched house and in sobriety, equally shuns the enviable palace.
[tr. Alexander (1999)]You’ll live more virtuously, my Murena,
by not setting out to sea, while you’re in dread
of the storm, or hugging fatal shores
too closely, either.
Whoever takes delight in the golden mean,
safely avoids the squalor of a shabby house,
and, soberly, avoids the regal palace
that incites envy.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
Ah, Postumus! they fleet away,
Our years, nor piety one hour
Can win from wrinkles and decay,
And Death’s indomitable power.
[Eheu fugaces, Postume, Postume,
labuntur anni nec pietas moram
rugis et instanti senectae
adferet indomitaeque morti.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Odes [Carmina], Book 2, # 14, l. 1ff (2.14.1-4) (23 BC) [tr. Conington (1872)]
(Source)
"To Postumus." It is unclear which acquaintance of Horace this was addressed to; the name is popularly associated (back to Horace's time) with being given to a child born after the death of their father (which gives it a certain irony here); in reality, it was originally given to the (broader) category of last children of a father.
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:Ah Posthumus! the years of man
Slide on with winged pace, nor can
Vertue reprieve her friend
From wrinkles, age, and end.
[tr. Fanshawe; ed. Brome (1666)]Time (Posthumus) goes with full sail,
Nor can thy honest heart avail
A furrow'd brow, old age at hand,
Or Death unconquer'd to withstand:
One long night,
Shall hide this light
From all our sight,
And equal Death
Shall few dayes hence,
stop every breath.
[tr. S. W.; ed. Brome (1666)]The whirling year, Ah Friend! the whirling year Rouls on apace;
And soon shall wrinkles plough thy wither'd Face:
In vain you wast your Pious breath,
No prayers can stay, no vows defer
The swift approach of Age, and conqu'ring Death.
[tr. Creech (1684)]Alas! my Postumus, my Postumus, the fleeting years glide on; nor will piety cause any delay to wrinkles, and advancing old age, and insuperable death.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]Ah, Posthumus, the years, the fleeting years
Still onwards, onwards glide;
Nor mortal virtue may
Time's wrinkling fingers stay,
Nor Age's sure advance, nor Death's all-conquering stride.
[tr. Martin (1864)]Postumus, Postumus, the years glide by us,
Alas! no piety delays the wrinkles,
Nor old age imminent,
Nor the indomitable hand of Death.
[tr. Bulwer-Lytton (1870)]Ah! Postumus! Devotion fails
The lapse of gliding years to stay,
With wrinkled age it nought avails
Nor conjures conquering Death away.
[tr. Gladstone (1894)]Ah me! how quickly, Postumus, Postumus,
Glide by the years! nor even can piety
Delay the wrinkles, and advancing
Age, and attacks of unconquer'd Hades.
[tr. Phelps (1897)]Alas! Postumus, Postumus, the fleeing years
Slip by, and duteousness does not give pause
To wrinkles, or to hasting age,
Or death unconquerable.
[tr. Garnsey (1907)]Ah! Postumus, Postumus, fast fly the years,
And prayers to wrinkles and impending age
Bring not delay; nor shalt assuage
Death's stroke with pious tears.
[tr. Marshall (1908)]Alas, O Postumus, Postumus, the years glide swiftly by, nor will righteousness give pause to wrinkles, to advancing age, or Death invincible.
[tr. Bennett (Loeb) (1912)]Ah, Postumus, my Postumus, the fleeting years roll by;
Wrinkles and ever nearing eld stay not for piety:
Relentless they, relentless death's unconquered tyranny.
[tr. Mills (1924)]Ah, how they glide by, Postumus, Postumus,
The years, the swift years! Wrinkles and imminent
Old age and death, whom no one conquers --
Piety cannot delay their onward
March.
[tr. Michie (1963)]Oh year by year, Póstumay,
Póstumay, time slips by,
And holiness can't stop us drying,
Or hold off death.
[tr. Raffel (1983)]How the years go by, alas how the years go by.
Behaving well can do nothing at all about it.
Wrinkles will come, old age will come, and death,
Indomitable. Nothing at all will work.
[tr. Ferry (1997)]Alas! O Postumus, Postumus! Swiftly the years glide by, and no amount of piety will wrinkles delay or halt approaching age or ineluctable death.
[tr. Alexander (1999)]Oh how the years fly, Postumus, Postumus,
they’re slipping away, virtue brings no respite
from the wrinkles that furrow our brow,
impending old age, Death the invincible.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
Necessity’s impartial law
For every rank is still the same,
One lot for high and low to draw:
The urn hath room for every name.
[Aequa lege Necessitas
Sortitur insignes et imos;
Omne capax movet urna nomen.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Odes [Carmina], Book 3, # 1, l. 14ff (3/1/14-16) (23 BC) [tr. Gladstone (1894)]
(Source)
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:Necessity in a vast Pot
Shuffling the names of great and small,
Draws every one's impartial lot.
[tr. Fanshaw; ed. Brome (1666)]Yet equal Death doth strike at all,
The haughty Great, and humble Small,
She strikes with an impartial Hand;
She shakes the vast capacious Urn,
And each Man's Lot must take his turn;
Thro every glass she presses equal Sand.
[tr. Creech (1684)]What are great or small?
Death takes the mean man with the proud;
The fatal urn has room for all.
[tr. Conington (1872)]Fate, by the impartial law of nature, is allotted both to the conspicuous and the obscure; the capacious urn keeps every name in motion.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]Still Fate doth grimly stand.
And with impartial hand
The lots of lofty and of lowly draws
From that capacious urn,
Whence every name that lives is shaken in its turn.
[tr. Martin (1864)]Necessity with equal law assorts the varying lots;
Though this may bear the lofty name and that may bear the low,
Each in her ample urn she shakes,
And casts the die for all.
[tr. Bulwer-Lytton (1870)]But all with equal law stern Necessity
Allots their place — the high, the lowest,
Ev'ry man's name in that urn is shaken.
[tr. Phelps (1897)]but Doom, with equal law.
Wins high and humblest,
The ample urn shakes every name.
[tr. Garnsey (1907)]Alike for high and low Death votes.
His mighty urn will throw
Each name or soon or late.
[tr. Marshall (1908)]Yet with impartial justice Necessity allots the fates of high and low alike. The ample urn keeps tossing every name.
[tr. Bennett (Loeb) (1912)]All the same,
Ever and aye Necessity
Dooms high and low impartially;
The vasty urn shakes every name.
[tr. Mills (1924)]Yet still Necessity, the same just dealer,
Allots to high and low
Their fates: her large urn shuffles every name.
[tr. Michie (1963)]Necessity makes the choice.
No matter what your station or situation,
Your name is shake in the urn.
[tr. Ferry (1997)]Necessity allots the destinies of illustrious and lowly alike. The capacious urn churns every name.
[tr. Alexander (1999)]But Necessity sorts
the fates of high and low with equal
justice: the roomy urn holds every name.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
The glorious and the decent way of dying
Is for one’s country. Run, and death will seize
You no less surely. The young coward, flying,
Gets his quietus in the back and knees.
[Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori:
mors et fugacem persequitur virum
nec parcit inbellis iuventae
poplitibus timidoque tergo.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Odes [Carmina], Book 3, # 2, l. 13ff (3.2.13-16) (23 BC) [tr. Michie (1963)]
(Source)
The first line is often translated as "It is sweet and fitting to die for one’s country." While dulce et decorum is often in the modern era (World War I and beyond) dismissed as murderous, meaningless brainwashing, the rest of the quatrain clarifies that death comes to the courageous and cowardly alike; that dishonorable flight does not ensure safety.
Though it's worth noting that Horace wrote of abandoning his shield and fleeing at the Battle of Philippi.
The ode as a whole is about training young Roman men in discipline and courage.
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:It is a sweet, and noble gain,
In Countreys quarrel to be slain.
Death the swift flying man pursues
With ready steps: Nor doth he use
To spare from unavoided wrack,
Youths supple hams, or fearful back.
[tr. Sir T. H.; ed. Brome (1666)]He nobly Bleeds, he bravely Dies,
That falls his Countries Sacrifice;
The flying Youth swift Fate o're takes
It strikes them thro the trembling backs,
And runs too fast for nimble Cowardice.
[tr. Creech (1684)]What joy, for fatherland to die!
Death's darts e'en flying feet o'ertake,
Nor spare a recreant chivalry,
A back that cowers, or loins that quake.
[tr. Conington (1872)]It is sweet and glorious to die for one’s country; death even pursues the man that flies from him; nor does he spare the trembling knees of effeminate youth, nor the coward back.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]For our dear native land to die
Is glorious and sweet;
And death the coward slaves that fly
Pursues with steps as fleet.
Nor spares the loins and backs of those
Unwarlike youths, who shun their foes.
[tr. Martin (1864)]Glorious and sweet it is to die for the dear native land;
Even him who runs away from Death, Death follows fast behind --
Death does not spare the recreant back,
And hamstrings limbs that flee.
[tr. Bulwer-Lytton (1870)]Sweet and glorious it is to die for our country. Death also pursues the runaway, and spares not the legs and trembling back of the unwarlike youth.
[tr. Elgood (1893)]'T is sweet for native land to die,
'T is noble: Death takes them that fly:
For coward back it has no ruth,
Nor spares the flight of dastard youth.
[tr. Gladstone (1894)]'Tis sweet and noble -- Death for one's country's sake --
Death overtakes the cowardly fugitive.
Nor spares his flying limbs, and timid
Back, as he runs from the foe dishonour'd.
[tr. Phelps (1897)]'Tis sweet and honourable to die for fatherland.
Death follows even the man who flees.
And of unwarlike youth
Spares not the loins and recreant back.
[tr. Garnsey (1907)]Good 'tis and fine, for fatherland to die!
Death tracks him too who shirks; nor will He fail
To smite the coward loins that quail,
The coward limbs that fly!
[tr. Marshall (1908)]'Tis sweet and glorious to die for fatherland. Yet Death o’ertakes not less the runaway, nor spares the limbs and coward backs of faint-hearted youths.
[tr. Bennett (Loeb) (1912)]To die for Homeland is a sweet
And gracious thing; on flying feet
Death presses hard, nor spares to smite
Poltroons' weak knees and backs affright.
[tr. Mills (1924)]How good, how noble to die for your country.
Death chases those who run from him,
And catches them, sand never spares a coward
Or a womanish boy.
[tr. Raffel (1983)]Sweet and proper it is to die for your country,
But Death would just as soon come after him
Who runs away; Death gets him by the backs
Of his fleeing knees and jumps him from behind.
[tr. Ferry (1997)]Sweet and noble is it to die for one’s country, yet Death pursues even the man who flees, nor does he spare the languid loins and cowardly backs of pusillanimous youth.
[tr. Alexander (1999)]It’s sweet and fitting to die for one’s country.
Yet death chases after the soldier who runs,
and it won’t spare the cowardly back
or the limbs, of peace-loving young men.
[tr. Kline (2015)]It is sweet and proper to die for your country:
Death, too, pursues the runaway man
And does not spare the knees of a peaceful youth
nor a fearful back.
[tr. Wikisource (2021)]
To Virtue shame is all unknown;
She shines with honours of her own;
Nor, as the public smile or frown,
Takes office up, or lays it down.[Virtus, repulsae nescia sordidae,
intaminatis fulget honoribus
nec sumit aut ponit securis
arbitrio popularis aurae.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Odes [Carmina], Book 3, # 2, l. 17ff (3.2.17-20) (23 BC) [tr. Gladstone (1894)]
(Source)
The bundle of rods, sometimes encircling an axe, is known as the fasces, and was the symbol of government power in Rome. The reference to the axe (securis) is from this symbol.
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:Vertue, that ne're repulse admits,
In taintless honours, glorious sits,
Nor takes, or leaveth Dignities,
Rais'd with the noise of vulgar cries.
[tr. Sir T. H.; ed. Brome (1666)]Vertue, unlearn'd to bear the base
And shameful baffle of disgrace,
Nor takes, nor quits the tottering Throne,
As fickle Crowds shall smile or frown;
Nor from their wavering Breath receives the place.
[tr. Creech (1684)]True Virtue never knows defeat:
Her robes she keeps unsullied still,
Nor takes, nor quits, her curule seat
To please a people's veering will.
[tr. Conington (1872)]Virtue, unknowing of base repulse, shines with immaculate honors; nor does she assume nor lay aside the ensigns of her dignity, at the veering of the popular air.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]Worth, all-indifferent to the spurns
Of vulgar souls profane,
The honours wears, it proudly earns,
Unclouded by a stain:
Nor grasps, nor lays the fasces down,
As fickle mobs may smile or frown.
[tr. Martin (1864)]Virtue ne'er knows of a defeat which brings with it disgrace;
The blazon of her honors ne’er the breath of men can stain;
Her fasces she nor takes nor quits
As veers the popular gale.
[tr. Bulwer-Lytton (1870)]Virtue knows not base rejection, is radiant with the purest honour, and neither takes, nor resigns, the axes at the breath of the popular will.
[tr. Elgood (1893)]Virtue, that knows not how to be overthrown,
Shines with unsullied honours impregnable.
Nor at the lawless people's bidding
Does she take up or lay down her honours.
[tr. Phelps (1897)]Virtue that knows not base defeat
Shines with untarnished honours,
Nor takes nor lays aside the Consul's axe
Upon decision by the popular whim.
[tr. Garnsey (1907)]True Worth knows not defeat, and still preserves
His robe unsullied by base Envy's stain;
He takes not nor quits power again,
As mob-mood sways and swerves.
[tr. Marshall (1908)]True worth, that never knows ignoble defeat, shines with undimmed glory, nor takes up nor lays aside the axes at the fickle mob’s behest.
[tr. Bennett (Loeb) (1912)]Virtue, secure from shameful rout,
With honours all-unstained shines out;
Nor takes, nor drops, authority
To suit the crowd's oft-changing cry.
[tr. Mills (1924)]Unconscious of mere loss of votes and shining
With honours that the mob's breath cannot dim,
True worth is not found raising or resigning
The fasces at the wind of popular whim.
[tr. Michie (1963)]Virtue has no concern with reputation,
Shines for its own sake, neither takes up
Arms nor lays them down
Because the mob tells it so.
[tr. Raffel (1983)]Virtue, rejecting everything that's sordid,
Shines with unblemished honor, nor takes up office
Nor puts it down persuaded by any shift
Of the popular wind.
[tr. Ferry (1997)]Virtue, unconscious of disgraceful defeat,
shines with unsullied honors
nor does she raise up or lay down the Fasces
at the mere murmuring of the mob.
[tr. Willett (1998)]Virtue, that’s ignorant of sordid defeat,
shines out with its honour unstained, and never
takes up the axes or puts them down
at the request of a changeable mob.
[tr. Kline (2015)]Courage, unaware of putrid defeat,
gleams with unblemished honours,
and neither takes nor places the axes
on the judgement of the common ear.
[tr. Wikisource (2021)]
The man of firm and righteous will,
No rabble, clamorous for the wrong,
No tyrant’s brow, whose frown may kill,
Can shake the strength that makes him strong.[Iustum et tenacem propositi virum
non civium ardor prava iubentium,
non voltus instantis tyranni
mente quatit solida]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Odes [Carmina], Book 3, # 3, l. 1ff (3.3.1-4) (23 BC) [tr. Conington (1872)]
(Source)
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:An honest and resolved man,
Neither a peoples tumults can,
Neither a Tyrants indignation,
Un-center from his fast foundation.
[tr. Fanshaw; ed. Brome (1666)]Not the rage of the people pressing to hurtful measures, not the aspect of a threatening tyrant can shake from his settled purpose the man who is just and determined in his resolution.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]He that is just, and firm of will
Doth not before the fury quake
Of mobs that instigate to ill,
Nor hath the tyrant's menace skill
His fixed resolve to shake.
[tr. Martin (1864)]Not the rage of the million commanding things evil,
Not the doom frowning near in the brows of the tyrant,
Shakes the upright and resolute man
In his solid completeness of soul.
[tr. Bulwer-Lytton (1870)]Neither the fury of the populace, commanding him to do what is wrong, nor the face of the despot which confronts him, [...] shakes from his solid resolve a just and determined man.
[tr. Elgood (1893)]The just man, in his purpose strong,
No madding crowd can bend to wrong.
The forceful tyrant's brow and word,
[...] His firm-set spirit cannot move.
[tr. Gladstone (1894)]Him who is just, and stands to his purpose true.
Not the unruly ardour of citizens
Shall shake from his firm resolution,
Nor visage of the oppressing tyrant.
[tr. Phelps (1897)]The upright man holding his purpose fast,
No heat of citizens enjoining wrongful acts,
No overbearing despot's countenance,
Shakes from his firm-set mind.
[tr. Garnsey (1907)]The man that's just and resolute of mood
No craze of people's perverse vote can shake,
Nor frown of threat'ning monarch make
To quit a purposed good.
[tr. Marshall (1908)]The man tenacious of his purpose in a righteous cause is not shaken from his firm resolve by the frenzy of his fellow citizens bidding what is wrong, not by the face of threatening tyrant.
[tr. Bennett (Loeb) (1912)]Who loves the Right, whose will is resolute,
His purpose naught can shake — nor rage of brute
Mob bidding him work evil; nor the eye
Of threatening despot
[tr. Mills (1924)]A mob of citizens clamouring for injustice,
An autocrat's grimace of rage [...] cannot stagger
The just and steady-purposed man.
[tr. Michie (1963)]The man who knows what's right and is tenacious
In the knowledge of what he knows cannot be shaken.
Not by people righteously impassioned
In a wrong cause, and not by menacings
Of tyrants' frowns.
[tr. Ferry (1997)]The just man, tenacious in his resolve,
will not be shaken from his settled purpose
by the frenzy of his fellow citizens
imposing that evil be done,
or by the frown of a threatening tyrant.
[tr. Alexander (1999)]The passion of the public, demanding what
is wrong, never shakes the man of just and firm
intention, from his settled purpose,
nor the tyrant’s threatening face.
[tr. Kline (2015)]Neither the passion of citizens demanding crooked things,
Not the face of a threatening tyrant
Shakes the man who is righteous and set in purpose
From his strong mind.
[tr. Wikisource (2021)]
Strength without wisdom falls by its own weight;
The strength that wisdom tempers, the gods increase;
The gods abhor that strength whose heart knows nothing
But what impiety is, and it is punished.[Vis consili expers mole ruit sua,
Vim temperatam di quoque provehunt
In maius; idem odere viris
Omne nefas animo moventis.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Odes [Carmina], Book 3, # 4, l. 65ff (3.4.65-68) (23 BC) [tr. Ferry (1997)]
(Source)
"To Calliope." (Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:Uncounsil'd force with his own weight
Is crusht; a force that's temperate
Heaven it self helps: and hates no less
Strength that provokes to wickedness.
[tr. Fanshawe; ed. Brome (1666)]Rash force by its own weight must fall,
But Pious strength will still prevail;
For such the Gods assist, and bless,
But hate a mighty Wickedness.
[tr. Creech (1684)]Strength, mindless, falls by its own weight;
Strength, mix'd with mind, is made more strong
By the just gods, who surely hate
The strength whose thoughts are set on wrong.
[tr. Conington (1872)]Force, void of conduct, falls by its own weight; moreover, the gods promote discreet force to further advantage; but the same beings detest forces, that meditate every kind of impiety.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]Unreasoning strength by its own weight must fall.
To strength with wisdom blent
Force by the gods is lent.
Who hold in scorn that strength, which is on all
That's impious intent.
[tr. Martin (1864)]By its own weight sinks force, when void of counsel.
'Tis the force tempered which the gods make greater;
But they abhor the force
Which gives blind movement to all springs of crime.
[tr. Bulwer-Lytton (1870)]Strength without wisdom falls headlong by its own weight. The Gods increase success to wisely-regulated strength, but abhor the might which contemplates all manner of iniquity.
[tr. Elgood (1893)]Brute might may rush in headlong course,
But tempered strength the gods make strong
And stronger, while they hate the force
That madly stirs to deeds of wrong.
[tr. Gladstone (1894)]Strength void of counsel! By its own weight it falls,
Strength well-directed, even the Gods increase
To greater force, and hate mere brute-power
Planning in mind ev'ry form of evil.
[tr. Phelps (1897)]Force void of counsel falls by its own weight:
But force restrained the very gods bear on
To greater: so they hate the power
That stirreth every disobedience in the mind.
[tr. Garnsey (1907)]For ill-trained strength by its own weight's o'erborne;
But Heaven, to powers well-ordered, favour lends,
Hating brute-force, which to ill ends
Doth all its travail turn.
[tr. Marshall (1908)]Brute force bereft of wisdom falls to ruin by its own weight. Power with counsel tempered, even the gods make greater. But might that in its soul is bent on all impiety, they hate.
[tr. Bennett (Loeb) (1912)]Force lacking counsel falls by its own weight;
Force temperate the Gods make yet more great --
The Gods who hate the strength that would defy
Their righteous will, and plot iniquity.
[tr. Mills (1924)]Primitive force topples to its own ruin,
But when the mind guides power it prospers; heaven
Helps it: the gods abhor
Brute strength devoted to malignant ends.
[tr. Michie (1963)]Force without wisdom falls of its own
Weight. Even the gods require sense of themselves,
And work better for its guidance. They hate
Evil no matter how strong.
[tr. Raffel (1983)]Force alone, devoid of judgment,
sinks beneath its own weight.
But tempered well by the wisdom of the gods,
it rises higher; for the gods detest
all violence which turns to crime.
[tr. Alexander (1999)]Power without wisdom falls by its own weight:
The gods themselves advance temperate power:
and likewise hate force that, with its whole
consciousness, is intent on wickedness.
[tr. Kline (2015)]Force without wisdom rushes from its own weight:
the gods, too, promote tempered force to something
greater; they also hate force
which stirs wickedness in every soul.
[tr. Wikisource (2021)]Force without wisdom falls of its own weight.
[E.g. (1936)]
As wealth grows, worry grows, and thirst for more wealth.
[Crescentem sequitur cura pecuniam,
Maiorumque fames.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Odes [Carmina], Book 3, # 16, l. 17ff (3.16.17-18) (23 BC) [tr. Michie (1963)]
(Source)
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:With growing riches cares augment,
And thirst of greater.
[tr. Fanshawe; ed. Brome (1666)]Care still attends encreasing store,
And craving Appetite for more
[tr. Creech (1684)]As riches grow, care follows: men repine
And thirst for more.
[tr. Conington (1872)]Care, and a thirst for greater things, is the consequence of increasing wealth.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]But as wealth into our coffers flows in still increasing store,
So, too, still our care increases, and the hunger still for more.
[tr. Martin (1864)]Care grows with wealth, with wealth the greed for more.
[tr. Bulwer-Lytton (1870)]The care of wealth, together with the thirst for more, attend increasing riches.
[tr. Elgood (1893)]But care with growing treasure grows,
And thirst for more.
[tr. Gladstone (1894)]Wealth, the faster it grows, is but the prey of care,
And of lusting for more.
[tr. Phelps (1897)]Care follows growing wealth, and thirst for more.
[tr. Garnsey (1907)]As riches grow, care follows, and a thirst
For more and more.
[tr. Marshall (1908)]Yet as money grows, care and greed for greater riches follow after.
[tr. Bennett (Loeb) (1912)]Increase of wealth and greed bring on
Care.
[tr. Mills (1924)]But gold brings both greed and
Trouble on its back.
[tr. Raffel (1983)]The more the money grows the more the greed
Grows too; also the anxiety of greed.
[tr. Ferry (1997)]But with increasing wealth, follow
anxiety and greed for more and more.
[tr. Alexander (1999)]Anxiety, and the hunger for more, pursues
growing wealth.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
Happy the Man, and happy he alone,
He who can call today his own:
He who, secure within, can say,
Tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today.
Be fair or foul or rain or shine
The joys I have possessed, in spite of fate, are mine.
Not Heav’n it self upon the past has pow’r,
But what has been, has been, and I have had my hour.
[Ille potens sui
laetusque deget cui licet in diem
dixisse “Vixi: cras vel atra
nube polum pater occupato
vel sole puro; non tamen inritum
quodcumque retro est efficiet neque
diffinget infectumque reddet
quod fugiens semel hora vexit.”]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Odes [Carmina], Book 3, # 29, l. 41ff (3.29.41-48) (23 BC) [tr. Dryden (1685)]
(Source)
"To Maecenas." (Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:He's Master of himself alone,
He lives, that makes each day his own:
He lives that can distinctly say
It is enough, for I have liv'd to day:
Let Jove to morrow smiling rise,
Or let dark Clouds spread o're the Skys:
He cannot make the pleasures void
Nor sower the sweets I have enjoy'd,
Nor call that back which winged hours have born away.
[tr. Creech (1684)]Happy he,
Self-centred, who each night can say,
“My life is lived: the morn may see
A clouded or a sunny day:
That rests with Jove: but what is gone,
He will not, cannot turn to nought;
Nor cancel, as a thing undone,
What once the flying hour has brought.
[tr. Conington (1872)]That man is master of himself and shall live happy, who has it in his power to say, "I have lived to-day: to-morrow let the Sire invest the heaven, either with a black cloud, or with clear sunshine; nevertheless he shall not render ineffectual what is past, nor undo or annihilate what the fleeting hour has once carried off.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]Lord of himself that man will be,
And happy in his life alway.
Who still at eve can say with free
Contented soul, "I've lived to-day!
Let Jove to-morrow, if he will,
With blackest clouds the welkin fill,
Or flood it all with sunlight pure.
Yet from the past he cannot take
Its influence, for that is sure.
Nor can he mar, or bootless make
Whate'er of rapture and delight
The hours have borne us in their flight."
[tr. Martin (1864)]Happy indeed is he,
Lord of himself, to whom
’Tis given to say, as each day ends, “I have lived:”
To-morrow let the Sire invest the heaven
With darkest cloud or “purest ray serene,”
He mars not what has been,
Nor from Time's sum blots out one fleeted hour.
[tr. Bulwer-Lytton (1870)]That man will live in happiness and self-command who can say at the close of each day, "I have lived. To-morrow let the Great Father fill the sky with black cloud or bright sunshine, yet can he not make void that which is to come, nor cause that not to have been which the flying hour hath once carried away on its wings."
[tr. Elgood (1893)]Self-ruled, light-hearted shall he be,
Who daily 'I have lived,' can say,
Dark tempests let the Sire decree,
Or brightness, for the coming day.
Yet cannot he the bygone days
Unmake, or hold the past undone,
Nor can with utmost might erase
The work of hours whose glass is run.
[tr. Gladstone (1894)]He will, his soul possessing, live joyfully,
Who, as each day goes by, can say, "I have liv'd;
To-morrow let th' Almighty Father
Either fill up with the darkling storm-cloud,
Or the pure sunlight! That which is past, e'en He
Cannot undo and cause to have never been,
Nor can He by his pow'r demolish
Bliss that the past fleeting hour has given."
[tr. Phelps (1897)]That man will be
Master of self, and pass in joy, who daily may
Declare "I have lived*: to-morrow let the Father
Encompass heaven, or with black cloud,
Or sunshine clear: still that which is behind
He will not render void nor forge anew
Nor make as though undone,
Whate'er the flying hour has once removed.
[tr. Garnsey (1907)]Self-centred he,
And blest, who can make boast each coming night
"This day I've lived." Or dark or bright
To-morrow's dawn may be,
As Jove shall please. But never deed that's done
Can ev'n high Heaven make as 'twere thing of naught;
Or act, by Time to issue brought,
Cancel as though 'twere none.
[tr. Marshall (1908)]Master of himself and joyful will that man live who day by day can say: "I have lived to-day ; to-morrow let the Father fill the heaven with murky clouds, or radiant sunshine! Yet will he not render vain whatever now is past, nor will he alter and undo what once the fleeting hour has brought.
[tr. Bennett (Loeb) (1912)]Lord of himself, and happy, will
He be, who can from day to day
Say, "I have lived; let Jove fulfill
Tomorrow's sky with leaden-grey
Clouds or with shine, he can't undo
What has been done, nor make as naught,
No, nor reforge and shape anew,
What once the flying hour has brought.
[tr. Mills (1924)]Call him happy
And lord of his own soul who every evening
Can say, "Today I have lived.
Tomorrow Jove may blot the sky with cloud
Or fill it with pure sunshine, yet he cannot
Devalue what has once been held as precious,
Or tarnish nor melt back
The gold the visiting hour has left behind."
[tr. Michie (1963)]A man is his own
Master, is happy, Maecenas, saluting
The sun and saying “Today I’ve been
Alive.” The gods can let tomorrow’s
Sky glow or be black with clouds,
But tomorrow's tomorrow, I've got what I've got,
Nothing I've had in my hands will be nothing,
Though time takes it.
[tr. Raffel (1983)]Happy the man who has earned the right to say:
"I've lived my life. There may be storms tomorrow,
Maybe fair weather. Nobody knows for sure.
What I have had in the past cannot be taken
Away from me now."
[tr. Ferry (1997)]Master of himself and joyful
will that man live who is able
every day to say: "I have lived."
Tomorrow let the Father fill the sky
either with dark clouds or radiant sunshine.
But even he cannot undo that which is done
or render vain the past
or alter what the fleeting hour has once wrought.
[tr. Alexander (1999)]He’s happy, he’s his own master, who can say
each day: ‘I’ve lived: tomorrow, the Father may
fill the heavens with darkening cloud,
or fill the sky with radiant sunshine:
yet he can’t render whatever is past as
null and void, he can never seek to alter,
or return and undo, whatever
the fleeting moment tosses behind it.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
And now ’tis done: more durable than brass
My monument shall he, and raise its head
O’er royal pyramids: it shall not dread
Corroding rain or angry Boreas,
Nor the long lapse of immemorial time.
[Exegi monumentum aere perennius
regalique situ pyramidum altius,
quod non imber edax, non aquilo impotens
possit diruere aut innumerabilis
annorum series et fuga temporum.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Odes [Carmina], Book 3, # 30, l. 1ff (3.30.1-5) (23 BC) [tr. Conington (1872)]
(Source)
Concluding ode from the 3rd Book, but interpreted as covering all three books of odes published to that date (there was a fourth book, but a significant intreval before he published a 4th). This sort of claim to literary immortality, while sounding a bit crazy to moderns, was not unusual in Roman (or Greek) writing.
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:A Work out-lasting Brass, and higher
Then Regal Pyramids proud Spire,
I have absolv'd. Which storming windes,
The Sea that turrets undermines,
Tract of innumerable daies,
Nor the rout of time can raze.
[tr. Fanshawe, ed. Brome (1666)]'TIs finish't; I have rais'd a Monument
More strong than Brass, and of a vast extent:
Higher than Egypt's statelyest Pyramid,
That costly Monument of Kingly Pride;
As High as Heaven the top, as Earth the Basis wide:
Which eating showers, nor North wind's feeble blast,
Nor whirling Time, nor flight of Years can wast.
[tr. Creech (1684)]I have completed a monument more lasting than brass, and more sublime than the regal elevation of pyramids, which neither the wasting shower, the unavailing north wind, nor an innumerable succession of years, and the flight of seasons, shall be able to demolish.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]I've reared a monument, my own,
More durable than brass,
Yea, kingly pyramids of stone
In height it doth surpass.
Rain shall not sap, nor driving blast
Disturb its settled base.
Nor countless ages rolling past
Its symmetry deface.
[tr. Martin (1864)]I have built a monument than bronze more lasting,
Soaring more high than regal pyramids,
Which nor the stealthy gnawing of the rain-drop,
Nor the vain rush of Boreas shall destroy;
Nor shall it pass away with the unnumbered
Series of ages and the flight of time.
[tr. Bulwer-Lytton (1870)]I have built my mausoleum of more enduring material than brass, and loftier than the royal Pyramids. Neither corroding rain, the furious North wind, the recurring cycles of years, nor the flight of time, will be able to destroy it.
[tr. Elgood (1893)]Now have I reared a monument more durable than brass,
And one that doth the royal scale of pyramids surpass,
Nor shall defeated Aquilo destroy, nor soaking rain,
Nor yet the countless tide of years, nor seasons in their train.
[tr. Gladstone (1894)]I a statue have rear'd longer to live than brass,
And more lofty than height royal of Pyramids;
Which nor storm can devour, nor headlong Aquilo
Overwhelm, or the great series innum'rable
Of the years as they roll, and the swift flight of time.
[tr. Phelps (1897)]I have wrought out a monument more durable than bronze,
And higher than the regal structure of the Pyramids,
Which not corroding rain, nor blustering Aquilo
May overthrow, or the innumerable
Series of years, and flight of time.
[tr. Garnsey (1907)]A monument I've achieved more strong than brass,
Soaring kings' pyramids to overpass;
Which not corroding raindrip shall devour,
Or winds that from the north sweep down in power,
Or years unnumbered as the ages flee!
[tr. Marshall (1908)]I have finished a monument more lasting than bronze and loftier than the Pyramids’ royal pile, one that no wasting rain, no furious north wind can destroy, or the countless chain of years and the ages’ flight.
[tr. Bennett (Loeb) (1912)]Lo, I have reared a monument that bronze shall not outlast,
More lofty than the pyramids that despots piled of yore;
Its strength defies devouring rain, defies the ungoverned blast
Of Aquilo, the wind that blows from where the North seas roar;
It shall survive when the unnumbered tale of years is past,
When days and months have ceased to be, and Time shall be no more.
[tr. Mills (1924)]More durable than bronze, higher than Pharaoh’s
Pyramids is the monument I have made,
A shape that angry wind or hungry rain
Cannot demolish, nor the innumerable
Ranks of the years that march in centuries.
[tr. Michie (1963)]The monument I've made for myself will outlast
Brass, reaches higher than Egyptian
Kings and their pyramids; nothing can corrode it,
No rain, no wind, nor the endless years
Flying past.
[tr. Raffel (1983)]Today I have finished a work outlasting bronze
And the pyramids of ancient royal kings.
The North Wind raging cannot scatter it
Nor can the rain obliterate this work,
Nor can the years, nor can the ages passing.
[tr. Ferry (1997)]I have erected a monument more durable than bronze,
loftier than the regal pile of pyramids
that cannot be destroyed either by
corroding rains or the tempestuous North wind
or the endless passage of the years
or the flight of centuries.
[tr. Alexander (1999)]I’ve raised a monument, more durable than bronze,
one higher than the Pyramids’ royal towers,
that no devouring rain, or fierce northerly gale,
has power to destroy: nor the immeasurable
succession of years, and the swift passage of time.
[tr. Kline (2015)]I constructed a monument of pyramids more durable than bronze
and higher than a royal site,
which the greedy rain, the raging North Wind
would not be able to tear apart or countless
series of years and flight of time.
[tr. Wikisource (2021)]
Best seed of gods, best keeper of the race
Of Romulus, thou art too long from home.
Thy word, giv’n in the Senate’s holy place,
Redeem that word, and come.
Restore, good Prince, thy country’s light of day,
For when thy visage dawns, like spring benign,
The hours more smoothly win their gracious way,
The suns more kindly shine.[Divis orte bonis, optume Romulae
custos gentis, abes iam nimium diu;
maturum reditum pollicitus patrum
sancto concilio redi.
lucem redde tuae, dux bone, patriae:
instar veris enim voltus ubi tuus
adfulsit populo, gratior it dies
et soles melius nitent.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Odes [Carmina], Book 4, # 5, l. 1ff (4.5.1-8) (13 BC) [tr. Gladstone (1894)]
(Source)
First two stanzas of an ode to Augustus, composed after the emperor had been on campaign in Germany and Gaul for 2½ years. The ode continues on lauding him for eight more stanzas. August returned to Rome that year.
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:Heavens choicest gift, Rome's greatest stay,
Now thou art too too long away:
The holy Senate urge thy word
For soon return, return. Afford,
Like day, thy presence; like the Spring
Give a new life to every thing:
The first, good Prince, our night will chace,
The second will prolong our dayes.
[tr. Fanshawe; ed. Brome (1666)]Great Hero's Son, Rome's gracious Lord,
How long shall we thy absence mourn!
Thy promis'd self at last afford,
Rome's sacred Senate begs: Return.
Great Sir restore your Country light;
When your auspitious beams arise,
Just as in Spring, the Sun's more bright,
And fairer days smile o're the Skys.
[tr. Creech (1684)]Best guardian of Rome's people, dearest boon
Of a kind Heaven, thou lingerest all too long:
Thou bad'st thy senate look to meet thee soon:
Do not thy promise wrong.
Restore, dear chief, the light thou tak'st away:
Ah! when, like spring, that gracious mien of thine
Dawns on thy Rome, more gently glides the day,
And suns serener shine.
[tr. Conington (1872)]O best guardian of the Roman people, born under propitious gods, already art thou too long absent; after having promised a mature arrival to the sacred council of the senators, return. Restore, O excellent chieftain, the light to thy country; for, like the spring, wherever thy countenance has shone, the day passes more agreeably for the people, and the sun has a superior lustre.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]From gods benign descended, thou,
Best guardian of the fates of Rome,
Too long already from thy home
Hast thou, dear chief, been absent now.
Oh, then, return, the pledge redeem
Thou gav'st the Senate, and once more
Its light to all the land restore;
For when thy face, like spring-tide's gleam,
Its brightness on the people sheds,
Then glides the day more sweetly by,
A brighter blue pervades the sky,
The sun a richer radiance spreads!
[tr. Martin (1864)]Best guardian of the race of Romulus,
And sprung thyself from deities benign,
Absent too long, fulfill thy promise, pledged
To Rome's high court -- return.
Bring to thy country back, belovéd chief,
The light: thy looks are to thy people Spring,
And where they smile, more grateful glides the day,
More genial shines the sun.
[tr. Bulwer-Lytton (1870)]Most renowned Guardian of the Roman nation, sprung from the beneficent Gods, thou remainest absent too long. Fulfil thy promise to the Sacred Senate of a speedy return to us.
Restore the light, gracious Commander, to thy country, for when, like Spring, thy countenance has shone on the populace, the day goes round more happily, and the orb of the Sun has greater brilliancy.
[tr. Elgood (1893)]O Thou, sprung from good Gods, best of the Guardians
Of old Romulus' race ; thou art too long away,
After promise of thine, made in the Senators'
Sacred gathering, O return!
Bring back daylight, great chief, now to thy countrymen!
For, like spring's sweet return, when thy glad countenance
On thy people hath shone, days pass more pleasantly,
And the suns have a warmer glow.
[tr. Phelps (1897)]O Thou, arisen through good gods, best guardian of the race
Of Romulus, thine absence now is all too long:
Since to the Fathers' sacred council thou didst promise
Returning prompt -- return.
Restore its light, good leader, to thy fatherland.
For when thy face beams like the face of Spring,
Upon the people, gailier speeds the day.
And better shine the suns.
[tr. Garnsey (1907)]Born under kindly gods, best guardian thou
Of Romulus' race, absent art thou too long!
Promise of swift return thou gave the throng
Of thy high Senate, -- come then, now!
Restore, kind chief, light to this land of thine;
For when, like Spring, thou dost thy face display
For thy folk's joy, more sweetly goes the day,
And the new morns serener shine.
[tr. Marshall (1908)]Sprung from the blessed gods, best guardian of the race of Romulus, too long already art thou absent. Come back, for thou didst pledge a swift return to the sacred council of the Fathers. To thy country give again, blest leader, the light of thy presence ! For when, like spring, thy face has beamed upon the folk, more pleasant runs the day, and brighter shines the sun.
[tr. Bennett (Loeb) (1912)]By grace of kind Gods born, best champion
Of Romulus' race, too long you stay from home;
Upon your promise to return anon
Our sacred Council rests; keep it, and come.
Give to your country back, dear Chief, your light,
For, when upon our folk your face has shone,
Like Spring, the very sunshine seems more bright,
Aye, and more pleasantly the days pass on.
[tr. Mills (1924)]Great guardian of the race of Romulus
Born when the gods were being good to us,
You have been absent now
Too long. You pledged your word
(The august Fathers heard)
To swift home-coming. Honour, then, that vow.
Restore, kind leader, to your countrymen
The light they lack. For like the sunshine when
It's springtime, where your face
Lights on the people, there
The weather turns to fair
And the day travels with a happier pace.
[tr. Michie (1963)]Augustus, born of the gods, Rome's
Best guardian, you've stayed away
Too long. Return, as you promised
Our pious Senate, come swiftly.v O noble prince, light up your country!
Whenever your face, like the Spring,
Shines on your people, that day is better,
That sun shines with more warmth.
[tr. Raffel (1983)]Custodian of the people who descend
From Romulus, the grandsire and the founder
Of the city you ahve promised to return to,
O blessed guardian, shine upon your country.
For then the Roman day will be more pleasant,
The sunlight brighter, then it will be like spring.
[tr. Ferry (1997)]You of divine grace born, you,
best guardian of the Roman people,
too long already have you been absent!
O return to
the sacred counsel to the fathers!
For you have promised us an opportune return.
Come home, auspicious Prince, bring back
the light to your fatherland.
[tr. Alexander (1999)]Son of the blessed gods, and greatest defender
of Romulus’ people, you’ve been away too long:
make that swift return you promised, to the sacred
councils of the City Fathers,
Blessed leader, bring light to your country again:
when your face shines on the people, like the shining
springtime, then the day itself is more welcoming,
and the sun beams down more brightly.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
Yet new moons swift replace the seasons spent;
But when we forth are thrust,
Where old Aeneas, Tullus, Ancus went,
Shadow are we and dust.
[Damna tamen celeres reparant caelestia lunae:
nos ubi decidimus
quo pius Aeneas, quo dives Tullus et Ancus,
pulvis et umbra sumus.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Odes [Carmina], Book 4, # 7, l. 13ff (4.7.13-16) (23 BC) [tr. Marshall (1908)]
(Source)
"To Torquatus." (Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:But the decays of time, Time doth repair:
When we once plunged are
Where good Aeneas, with rich Ancus wades,
Ashes we are, and shades.
[tr. Fanshawe; ed. Brome (1666)]When we shall view the gloomy Stygian Shore,
And walk amongst the mighty Dead
Where Tullus, where Aeneas went before:
We shall be Dust, and empty shade.
[tr. Creech (1684)]Yet the swift moons repair Heaven's detriment:
We, soon as thrust
Where good Aeneas, Tullus, Ancus went,
What are we? dust.
[tr. Conington (1872)]Nevertheless the quick-revolving moons repair their wanings in the skies; but when we descend [to those regions] where pious Æneas, where Tullus and the wealthy Ancus [have gone before us], we become dust and a mere shade.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]But moons revolve, and all again is bright:
We, when we fall, as fell the good and just
Æneas, wealthy Tullus, Ancus wight,
Are but a nameless shade, and some poor grains of dust.
[tr. Martin (1864)]But the swift moons restore change and loss in the heavens,
When we go where have gone
Sire Æneas, and Tullus, and opulent Ancus,
We are dust and a shade.
[tr. Bulwer-Lytton (1870)]The swiftly-revolving Months however restore the gifts of the Seasons but we, when we have descended where good Æneas, wealthy Tullus, and Ancus, have gone, are dust and shadow.
[tr. Elgood (1893)]The hastening moons all waste in heaven repair:
We, when we once descend
To Tullus, Ancus, sire Aeneas, there
In dust and shadow end.
[tr. Gladstone (1894)]Yet the revolving Moons repair the losses of heaven;
But we, when once we have gone
Where pious Æneas, rich Tullus, and Ancus, have vanish'd,
Lo! dust and ashes are we!
[tr. Phelps (1897)]Still, rapid moving moons repair the heavenly losses:
We, when we fall
Whither the good Æneas fell, Tullus and Ancus rich,
Are dust and shadow.
[tr. Garnsey (1907)]Yet the swiftly changing moons repair their losses in the sky. We, when we have descended whither righteous Aeneas, whither rich Tullus and Ancus have gone, are but dust and shadow.
[tr. Bennett (Loeb) (1912)]Yet, fast as moons wane in the sky, as fast
They wax; but we, poor mortals, when we fare
Whither Aeneas, Tullus, Ancus passed,
Are naught but dust here, naught but shadows there.
[tr. Mills (1924)]Moons make speed to repair their heavenly losses, but not so
We, who, when once we have gone
Downwards to join rich Tullus and Ancus and father Aeneas,
Crumble to shadow and dust.
[tr. Michie (1963)]Whatever the skies lose, quick-running
Months repair -- but men, good Aeneas
Or rich Tullus or Ancus king of Rome,
Die and turn to shadows, to dust.
[tr. Raffel (1983)]Yet after a time, and time and time again,
The moon restores itself in the nighttime sky.
But when it's time for us to go down there
Where Aeneas went, the pious, and Tullus the rich,
And old King Ancus Martius, and all the others,
Then we're nothing but dust, we're nothing but shadows.
[tr. Ferry (1997)]And yet the swiftly phasing moons repair their celestial mishaps. While we, once descended where dwells pious Aeneas and wealthy Tullus and Ancus, dust and shadow are.
[tr. Alexander (1999)]Yet swift moons are always repairing celestial losses:
while, when we have descended
to virtuous Aeneas, to rich Tullus and Ancus, our kings,
we’re only dust and shadow.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
Will the gods grant a morrow for to-day?
No mortal can declare;
Give! all thou giv’st with open hand away
Escapes thy greedy heir.
Once thou art dead, once Minos on his bench
Thy doom for thee hath writ,
Birth, eloquence, devotion, nought can wrench
Thy spirit from the pit,
Torquatus!
[Quis scit an adiciant hodiernae crastina summae
tempora di superi?
Cuncta manus avidas fugient heredis amico
quae dederis animo.
Cum semel occideris et de te, splendida, Minos
fecerit arbitria,
non, Torquate, genus, non te facundia, non te
restituet pietas.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Odes [Carmina], Book 4, # 7, l. 17ff (4.7.17-24) (23 BC) [tr. Gladstone (1894)]
(Source)
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:Who knows if Iove unto thy life's past score
Will adde one morning more?
When thou art dead, and Rhadamanthus just
Sentence hath spoke thee dust,
Thy blood, nor eloquence can ransome thee,
No nor thy piety.
[tr. Fanshaw; ed. Brome (1666)]Who knows if stubborn Fate will prove so kind,
And joyn to this another day?
What e're is for thy greedy Heir design'd,
Will slip his Hands, and fly away:
When thou art gone, and Minos Sentence read,
Torquatus there is no return,
Thy Fame, nor all thy learned Tongue can plead,
Nor goodness shall unseal the Urn.
[tr. Creech (1684)]Can Hope assure you one more day to live
From powers above?
You rescue from your heir whate'er you give
The self you love.
When life is o'er, and Minos has rehearsed
The grand last doom,
Not birth, nor eloquence, nor worth, shall burst
Torquatus' tomb.
[tr. Conington (1872)]Who knows whether the gods above will add to this day’s reckoning the space of to-morrow? Every thing, which you shall indulge to your beloved soul, will escape the greedy hands of your heir. When once, Torquatus, you shall be dead, and Minos shall have made his awful decisions concerning you; not your family, not you eloquence, not your piety shall restore you.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]Who knows, if they who all our Fates control,
Will add a morrow to thy brief to-day?
Then think of this, -- What to a friendly soul
Thy hand doth give shall 'scape thine heir's rapacious sway.
When thou, Torquatus, once hast vanish'd hence,
And o'er thee Minos' great decree is writ,
Nor ancestry, nor fire-lipp'd eloquence,
Nor all thy store of wealth to give thee back were fit.
[tr. Martin (1864)]Who knows if the gods will yet add a to-morrow
To the sum of to-day?
Count as saved from an heir's greedy hands all thou givest
To that friend -- thine own self.
When once dead, the resplendent tribunal of Minos
Having once pronounced doom,
Noble birth, suasive tongue, moral worth, O Torquatus,
Reinstate thee no more.
[tr. Bulwer-Lytton (1870)]Who can tell whether the Gods above will add an existence for us during to-morrow to that of to-day? All, however, thou mayest indulge thyself in will escape the greedy grasp of thy heir. When once thou hast fallen, and Minos shall have passed his impartial judgment upon thee, neither thy pedigree, Torquatus, thine eloquence, nor thy goodness, will restore thee back to earth.
[tr. Elgood (1893)]Who can tell whether the Gods will add the hours of tomorrow
On to the sum of to-day?
All will escape your heir's greedy clutches, which with a friendly
Mind you have spent in your life.
For, when once thou hast died, and over thee Minos in judgment
Hath made his grand last award,
Then neither birth shall avail, Torquatus; nor eloquence bring thee
Back, nor thy fear of the Gods.
[tr. Phelps (1897)]Who knoweth if the gods above may add to-morrow's time
To this day's count?
All that thou givest to thy soul's delighting will escape
An heir's greedy hands.
When once thou'rt dead, and Minos o'er thee shall have made
August decision.
Not, O Torquatus, not thy birth, or flow of word, not piety,
Will reinstate thee.
[tr. Garnsey (1907)]Who knows that Heaven to this day's gift will please
To-morrow's sun to lend?
And all thy goods a greedy heir will seize,
Save what thyself did spend.
Once thou art dead, and Minos' high decree
Shall speak to seal thy doom
Though noble, pious, eloquent thou be,
These snatch not from the tomb.
[tr. Marshall (1908)]Who knows whether the gods will add to-morrow’s time to the sum of today ? All things which thou grantest to thine own dear soul, shall escape the greedy clutches of thine heir. When once thou hast perished and Minos has pronounced on thee his august judgment, not family, Torquatus, nor eloquence, nor righteousness shall restore thee again to life.
[tr. Bennett (Loeb) (1912)]Who knows whether the gods who reign above
Add a new day's span to the sum of this?
Live while you live; that which the soul you love,
Your self, enjoys, your greedy heir will miss.
Once you are dead, once Minos, judge of men,
Has fixed by doom august your destiny,
Not rank, Torquatus, shall restore you then;
Not eloquence; not even piety.
[tr. Mills (1924)]Who knows whether the all-high gods intend an addition
Made to the sum of today?
Give to your own dear self: that gift is the only possession
Fingers of heirs cannot grasp.
Once you are dead, Torquatus, and Minos delivers his august
Verdict upon your affairs,
No blue blood, no good deeds done, no eloquent pleading
Ever shall conjure you back.
[tr. Michie (1963)]Who knows if the gods will add tomorrow's
Hours to your time today?
Whatever you give yourelf, here, now,
No greedy heir can clutch at.
Torquatus, once you're buried, once
The Lord of Death has judged you,
Nothing will bring you back, no ancient
Name, no noble words, no one's love.
[tr. Raffel (1983)]Who knows whether tomorrow the gods will have
Anything more to give than they have given?
What you can give to your own dear heart today
Will not fall into the clutch of your heir tomorrow.
Torquatus, once you've died and Minos the judge
Has spoken his words down there, then neither rank
Nor eloquence nor virtue -- none of these --
Can ever bring you back to life again.
[tr. Ferry (1997)]Who knows whether the celestial gods will add tomorrow’s time to the sum of today’s. All which you bestow upon your very own soul escapes the avid hands of your heir. Once you are dead and Minos has pronounced on you his solemn judgment, neither your noble origin, Torquatus, nor your eloquence, nor your piety will bring you back to life.
[tr. Alexander (1999)]Who knows whether the gods above will add tomorrow’s hours
to the total of today?
All those you devote to a friendly spirit will escape from
the grasping hands of your heirs.
When once you’re dead, my Torquatus, and Minos pronounces
his splendid judgement on you,
no family, no eloquence, no righteousness even,
can restore you again.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
Oft before Agamemnon brave men warred;
But all unwept they lie in endless night,
Lacking, to deck their deeds with light,
Song of a heaven-taught bard.[Vixere fortes ante Agamemnona
multi; sed omnes illacrimabiles
urgentur ignotique longa
nocte, carent quia vate sacro.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Odes [Carmina], Book 4, # 9, l. 25ff (4.9.25-28) (23 BC) [tr. Marshall (1908)]
(Source)
"To Lollius." See also Gray.
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:Men slasht ere Diomed was made:
But all are in oblivion drown'd,
And put unmourn'd into the ground,
For lack of Sacred Poets aid.
[tr. Fanshawe; ed. Brome (1666)]Before that Age a thousand liv'd,
And sent surprising Glories forth,
But none the silent Grave surviv'd;
In Night their Splendor's gone,
They fell, unmourn'd, unknown;
Because no Verse embalms their Worth.
[tr. Creech (1684)]Before Atrides men were brave:
But ah! oblivion, dark and long,
Has lock'd them in a tearless grave,
For lack of consecrating song.
[tr. Conington (1872)]Many brave men lived before Agamemnon: but all of them, unlamented and unknown, are overwhelmed with endless obscurity, because they were destitute of a sacred bard.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]Many, many have lived, who were valiant in fight,
Before Agamemnon; but all have gone down,
Unwept and unknown, in the darkness of night,
For lack of a poet to hymn their renown.
[tr. Martin (1864)]Many brave men have lived long before Agamemnon,
But o’er them darkly presses the slumber eternal;
All unwept and unknown, wanting Him --
Everlastingly sacred -- the Bard!
[tr. Bulwer-Lytton (1870)]Many brave men lived before Agamemnon, but all like crushed under eternal obvlivion, unknown to us and unwept by us, because no bard hath immortalized them.
[tr. Elgood (1893)]Ere Agamemnon saw the light
There lived brave men: but tearless all,
Enfolded in eternal night,
For lack of sacred minstrels, fall.
[tr. Gladstone (1894)]Brave men before the great Agamemnon's time
Liv'd many, but in tearless oblivion
And night, unknown and unlamented
Lie they, for want of a sacred poet
[tr. Phelps (1897)]Prior to Agamemnon lived many who were brave,
But all unwept, unknown.
In endless night are plunged because
They lack a bard divine.v [tr. Garnsey (1907)]Many heroes lived before Agamemnon ; but all are overwhelmed in unending night, unwept, unknown, because they lack a sacred bard.
[tr. Bennett (Loeb) (1912)]Before the age of Agamemnon wight
Lived many a hero, but unwept, unknown,
Because no sacred bard hymned their renown,
They, one and all, lie whelmed in endless night.
[tr. Mills (1924)]Many brave men lived before Agamemnon,
But all went down unmourned, unhouured, into the smothering darkness
For lack of a minstrel to be their glory-giver.
[tr. Michie (1963)]There were heroes before Agamemnon
Was born -- but who knows them? Unmourned,
They lie buried in eternal darkness,
Sung by no sacred song.
[tr. Raffel (1983)]Heroes have lived before Agamemnon lived,
But all of them are lost somewhere in the night,
Unwept, unkonwn, unless they had a poet
To tell what was their story.
[tr. Ferry (1997)]Many brave men
Llived before Agamemnon.
But all of them, unwept and unknown,
are shrouded in eternal night
for lack of a sacred bard.
[tr. Alexander (1999)]Many brave men lived before Agamemnon:
but all are imprisoned in unending night,
all of them are unwept and unknown,
because of the lack of a sacred bard.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
Of lingering and gain-seeking make an end;
Think, while there’s time, how soon Death’s pyre may blaze;
And some brief folly mix with prudent ways:
At the fit hour ’tis sweet to unbend.[Verum pone moras et studium lucri
nigrorumque memor, dum licet, ignium
misce stultitiam consiliis brevem:
dulce est desipere in loco.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Odes [Carmina], Book 4, # 12, l. 25ff (4.12.25-28) (13 BC) [tr. Marshall (1908)]
(Source)
Usually subtitled by translators "To Virgil" or "Invitation to Virgil." There has been great controversy amongst scholars whether the Virgil mentioned in the ode refers to the famous poet who composed the Aeneid, among other works. The two knew each other, but that Virgil died in 19 BC. Some suggest this was an older poem of Horace's, finished and inserted into this later, final volume by him.
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:Think Life is short, forget thy fears,
And eager thoughts of Gain,
Short Folly mix with graver Cares,
'Tis decent sometimes to be vain.
[tr. Creech (1684)]Come, quit those covetous thoughts, those knitted brows,
Think on the last black embers, while you may,
And be for once unwise. When time allows,
'Tis sweet the fool to play.
[tr. Conington (1872)]But lay aside delay, and the desire of gain; and, mindful of the gloomy [funeral] flames, intermix, while you may, your grave studies with a little light gayety: it is delightful to give a loose on a proper occasion.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]To the winds with base lucre and pale melancholy ! --
In the flames of the pyre these, alas! will be vain,
Mix your sage ruminations with glimpses of folly, --
'T is delightful at times to be somewhat insane!
[tr. Martin (1864)]But put aside delays and care of gain,
Warned, while yet time, by the dark death-fires; mix
With thought brief thoughtlessness; to be unwise
In time and place is sweet.
[tr. Bulwer-Lytton (1870)]Then lay aside delays, pursuit of gain, and, mindful fo the funeral pyre, intermix, while it is permitted, a temporary foolishness with thy worldly plans. There is pleasure in indulging in folly on special occasions.
[tr. Elgood (1893)]Quick! ere the lurid death-fire's day,
Drive thou the lust of gain away!
Thy wisdom with unwisdom grace:
'Tis well to rave, in time and place.
[tr. Gladstone (1894)]Come! a truce to delay, and the desire of gain!
And, all mindful, in time, of the dark fun'ral fires.
Mingle with your grave plans some little folly's fling,
Sweet is folly at fitting times.
[tr. Phelps (1897)]Mingle a little folly with your wisdom; a little nonsense now and then is pleasant.
[Source (1908)]But put aside delay and thirst for gain, and, mindful of Death’s dark fires, mingle, while thou mayst, brief folly with thy wisdom. ’Tis sweet at the fitting time to cast serious thoughts aside.
[tr. Bennett (Loeb) (1912), "The Delights of Spring"]Quick, quit your usury. Time is fleet.
Think, while you may, of funeral flames,
And blend brief folly with your aims;
Folly, in folly's hour, is sweet.
[tr. Mills (1924)]Then come at once and pause for breath
In chasing wealth. Remembering death
And death's dark fires, mix, while you may,
Method and madness, work and play.
Folly is sweet, well-timed.
[tr. Michie (1963)]Don’t linger, don’t stop to be sensible,
Let a little folly mix with your wisdom,
Be aware of death’s dark fires:
Frivolity is sweet, in season.
[tr. Raffel (1983)]And, heedful of death's black fire, consent for a while
To mix a little pleasure in with your prudence.
It's right to be foolish when the time is right.
[tr. Ferry (1997)]Be mindful, while you may,
of black-smoked funeral pyres
and blend a bit of folly with your wisdom.
O it is sweet at the proper time
to play the fool!
[tr. Alexander (1999)]But abolish delay, and desire for profit,
and, remembering death’s sombre flames, while you can,
mix a little brief foolishness with your wisdom:
it’s sweet sometimes to play the fool.
[tr. Kline (2015), "Spring"]
Roald Dahl had Willy Wonka use the thematically similar line "A little nonsense now and then / Is relished by the wisest men" in both his screenplay for the movie Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (1971) and in the book Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator. For more information in this variant and its possible origins, see Quote Origin: A Little Nonsense Now and Then is Relished by the Wisest Men – Quote Investigator®.
But there’s a class of persons, led astray
By false desires, and this is what they say:
“You cannot have enough: what you possess,
That makes your value, be it more or less.”
What answer would you make to such as these?
Why, let them hug their misery if they please.[At bona pars hominum decepta cupidine falso
‘nil satis est’, inquit, ‘quia tanti quantum habeas sis’:
quid facias illi? iubeas miserum esse, libenter
quatenus id facit.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Satires [Saturae, Sermones], Book 1, # 1, “Qui fit, Maecenas,” l. 61ff (1.1.61-64) (35 BC) [tr. Conington (1874)]
(Source)
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:But out (alas) the greater parte with sweete empoysned bate
Of welthe bewitchde, do weene their wants aboundance in eache state.
For monye maks, and mars (say they) and coyne it keepes the coyle,
It byndes the beare, it rules the roste, it putts all things to foyle.
A mann's his money, and no more, wherin confused is
An heaven of happs, a worlde of weeles, an hunnye hath of blisse.
O dottrells dome, and is it so? what guardon for these doultes
Shall we devyse? lets suffer still the foolishe frantycke foultes
To wallowe in their wilfulnes, whose under eating myndes
Is never cramde, but prooles for more and swarves not from their kyndes.
[tr. Drant (1567)]But most of men deceiv'd by false desire,
Say, Noughts enough; 'cause they absurdly guess
At what men are, by what they do possess.
To such a Miser what is't best to do?
Let him be wretched, since he will be so.
[tr. A. B.; ed. Brome (1666)]But most are lost in a Confounded Cheat,
They would have more, for when their Wealth is great
They think their Worth as much as their Estate:
Well then, what must we do to such a one?
Why, let him, 'tis his Will to be undone.
[tr. Creech (1684)]Some, self-deceiv'd, who think their lust of gold
Is but a love of fame, this maxim hold,
No Fortune's large enough, since others rate
Your worth proportion'd to a large estate.
Say, for their cure what arts would you employ?
"Let them be wretched, and their choice enjoy."
[tr. Francis (1747)]Yet thousands, duped by avarice in disguise,
Intrench themselves in maxims sage and wise.
Go on, say they, and hoard up all you can;
For wealth is worth, and money makes the man!
What shall we say to such? Since 'tis their will
Still to be wretched, let them be so still!
[tr. Howes (1845)]But a great majority of mankind, misled by a wrong desire, cry, “No sum is enough; because you are esteemed in proportion to what you possess.” What can one do to such a tribe as this? Why, bid them be wretched, since their inclination prompts them to it.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]But some one argues: -- many men, misled by wrong desire of fame, say no sum is enough, because we all are rated by the money we possess. What would you do with them? Why, bid them live a wretched life, since they act thus of their free will.
[tr. Millington (1870)]But a good many people, misled by blind desire, say, "You cannot have enough: for you get your rating from what you have." What can you do to a man who talks thus? Bid him be miserable, since that is his whim.
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]Mankind for the most part, fooled by its own false desires,
Says, “There’s no such thing as enough. You are worth
Only as much as you have.” And what can you do
With a person like this? Oh, well! Wish him hell and farewell,
Since he's headed that way by choice.
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]Still, since false desires fool a large portion of mankind,
they'll tell you, *Nothing's enough. What we own, we are."
What can you say? Say, "Be miserable," for that's the choice
they freely made.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]Too many men, bewitched by false desire, insist that
"Nothing is enough: people value you by what you own."
What can I say? Let him be miserable, that's how
He wants it!
[tr. Raffel (1983)]And yet a good part of humankind is deceived
by false cupidity. “Nothing is enough,”
they say. “For you are esteemed for as much as you
possess.” What can you do with one of these fools?
Leave him to his misery. It’s all of his
own doing anyway.
[tr. Alexander (1999)]But most people
want all that they desire, and so say, “There’s no such
thing as too much: you are what you acquire.”
You can always tell such a man but you
can’t tell him much. Tell him to suffer, since
that’s his choice.
[tr. Matthews (2002)]People are enticed by a desire which continually cheats them.
"Nothing is enough," they say, "for you’re only worth what you have."
What can you do with a man like that? You might as well tell him
to be miserable, since misery is what he enjoys.
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]Still, a good many people misled by foolish desire
Say: ‘There’s never enough, you’re only what you own.’
What can one say to that? Let such people be wretched,
Since that’s what they wish.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
Like the Athenian miser, who was wont
To meet men’s curses with a hero’s front:
“Folks hiss me,” said he, “but myself I clap
When I tell o’er my treasures on my lap.”[Ut quidam memoratur Athenis
sordidus ac dives, populi contemnere voces
sic solitus: ‘populus me sibilat, at mihi plaudo
ipse domi, simul ac nummos contemplor in arca.’]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Satires [Saturae, Sermones], Book 1, # 1, “Qui fit, Maecenas,” l. 64ff (1.1.64-67) (35 BC) [tr. Conington (1874)]
(Source)
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:Such one we reade of in olde tyme, that dwelte in Athins towne,
A man in substance passinge rytche, nathlesse a niggerde cloune,
At whose scarceheade, and covetyce the worlde did outas make,
But all in vayne, he forste it not, he sought not howe to slake
Blacke fame, that frisked everye wheare, and bounsed at ytche eare,
"A figge for them (brasen face) I force not howe I heare,
"They hauke, they hem, they hisse at me, I weygh it not an hawe,
"Whilste I may harbor in mine arke, and lodge wythin my lawe
"My darlynge goulde, my leaves gueste, my solace and my glee,
"He is the bone companion, its he that cheares up me."
[tr. Drant (1567)]Thus that Athenian Monster Timon, which
Hated Man-kind, a sordid Knave, but rich,
Was wont to say, When ere I walk abroad
The People hiss me, but I do applaud
And hug my self at home, when I behold
My chests brim-full with Silver and with Gold.
[tr. A. B.; ed. Brome (1666)]Since He, as the Athenian Chuff, will cry
The People hiss me, True, but what care I?
Let the poor fools hiss me where e're I come,
I bless my self to see my bags at home.
[tr. Creech (1684)]At Athens liv'd a wight, in days of yore,
Though miserably rich, yet fond of more,
But of intrepid spirit to despise
The abusive crowd. "Let them hiss on," he cries,
" While, in my own opinion fully blest,
I count my money, and enjoy my chest."
[tr. Francis (1747)]Self-cursed as that same miser must have been,
Who lived at Athens, rich as he was mean, --
Who, when the people hiss'd, would turn about
And drily thus accost the rabble-rout:
"Hiss on; I heed you not, ye saucy wags,
While self-applauses greet me o'er my bags."
[tr. Howes (1845)]As a certain person is recorded [to have lived] at Athens, covetous and rich, who was wont to despise the talk of the people in this manner: “The crowd hiss me; but I applaud myself at home, as soon as I contemplate my money in my chest.”
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]As wretched as, at Athens, some rich miser was, who (as they say) was wont to thus despise what people said of him: "Aha ! the Public hiss, but in my heart I say I m right, directly that I gaze upon the coins in my strong-box."
[tr. Millington (1870)]He is like a rich miser in Athens who, they say, used thus to scorn the people's talk: "The people hiss me, but at home I clap my hands for myself, once I gaze on the moneys in my chest."
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]Like the man they tell of
In Athens, filthy but rich, who despised the voice
Of the people and kept saying, "So! The citizens hiss at me!
Ah! But I applaud myself alone at home
When I gaze on the coins in my strongbox."
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]They're like an Athenian I heard about
Rich and stingy, he thought nothing of the people's snide remarks,
and always said, "They hiss me, but I applaud myself
at home, as soon as I lay eyes on the money in my chest."
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]As the Athenian miser
Is said to have answered, when citizens
Mocked him: "They hiss me, but at home I
Applaud myself, counting the coins in my safe."
[tr. Raffel (1983)]Like that one
about whom the story was told in Athens:
stingy and rich, he used to express
his scorn of the people’s jibes with these words:
"The people may hiss me, but at home
I applaud myself as I contemplate
my gold in the strongbox."
[tr. Alexander (1999)]He’s like the miser in Athens
who scorned, it’s said, what people thought of him.
“They hiss me in the streets, but once I’m home
I stare at my bright coffers and applaud
myself.”
[tr. Matthews (2002)]He's like the rich
Athenian miser who treated the people's remarks with contempt.
"The people hiss me," he would say, "but I applaud myself
when I reach home and set eyes on all the cash in my box!"
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]Like the rich Athenian miser
Who used to hold the voice of the crowd in contempt:
"They hiss at me, that crew, but once I’m home I applaud
Myself, as I contemplate all the riches in my chests."
[tr. Kline (2015)]
Hence comes it that the man is rarely seen
Who owns that his a happy life has been,
And, thankful for past blessings, with good will
Retires, like one who has enjoyed his fill.
[Inde fit ut raro, qui se vixisse beatum
dicat et exacto contentus tempore vita
cedat uti conviva satur, reperire queamus.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Satires [Saturae, Sermones], Book 1, # 1, “Qui fit, Maecenas,” l. 117ff (1.1.117-119) (35 BC) [tr. Conington (1874)]
(Source)
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:This is it why very selde we fynde
A man so cloyed with the worlde as he that new hathe dynde
Is with his meate and that thers none which in their extreame dayes
Will parte from lyfe as full from feast to goe theyr homewarde wayes
[tr. Drant (1567)]And hence it comes, we seldome find a man
That sayes He has liv'd happily, and can
Like a well-feasted-guest depart at last
Contented with that part of 's life that past.
[tr. A. B.; ed. Brome (1666)]Hence 'tis scarce any thinks his state is blest,
Nor when Death calls like a contented Guest
Will rise from Life, and lay him down to rest.
[tr. Creech (1684)]From hence, how few, like sated guests, depart
From life's full banquet with a cheerful heart!
[tr. Francis (1747)]Hence few are found, who dying can declare
That theirs was comfort unalloy'd with care;
Or, rising from life's banquet, quit their seat,
Like cheerful guests, contented with the treat.
[tr. Howes (1845)]Hence it is, that we rarely find a man who can say he has lived happy, and content with his past life, can retire from the world like a satisfied guest.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]And so it is that seldom can we find a man
to say he has lived happily, and to quit life
as sated guests can quit the feast, well pleased
with all the time he spent in it.
[tr. Millington (1870)]Thus it comes that seldom can we find one who says he has had a happy life, and who, when his time is sped, will quit life in contentment, like a guest who has had his fill.
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]So it is
That you rarely find someone who admits to having been happy
With the time allotted him, who admits that he has lived well
And lived right and is ready to leave, like one who gets up
From a banquet.
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]That's why we rarely find anyone who admits he's led
a happy life and is prepared to leave it, pleased
with the time he spent, like a guest after a good dinner.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]And therefore it’s hard
To find a man so happy with his life
That he’s ready to leave what he’s thoroughly enjoyed,
Like a guest who’s had all he could want.
[tr. Raffel (1983)]Hence it happens
that rarely can we find anyone who
admits having lived happily and now,
content with how he hasa spent his years,
retires from the banquet like a satiated guest.
[tr. Alexander (1999)]No wonder it’s rare that one of them will claim
a happy life or, when that life’s sped past him,
resign like a thankful guest who’s eaten well.
[tr.. Matthews (2002)]So it is that we can rarely find a man who says
he has lived a happy life and who, when his time is up,
contentedly leaves the world like a guest who has had his fill.
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]So we can rarely find a man who claims to have lived
A happy life, who when his time is done is content
To go, like a guest at the banquet who is well sated.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
And yet what harm can there be
in presenting the truth with a laugh, as teachers sometimes give
their children biscuits to coax them into learning their ABC?[Quamquam ridentem dicere verum
quid vetat? ut pueris olim dant crustula blandi
doctores, elementa velint ut discere prima.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Satires [Saturae, Sermones], Book 1, # 1, “Qui fit, Mæcenas,” l. 24ff (1.1.24-26) (35 BC) [tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]
(Source)
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:Toyes may kepe and staye
Sumtimes the reeder very well, as those that teache in schooles,
With buttred bread, or featusse knacks will lewre the little fooles,
To learne a pace theyr A. B. C.
[tr. Drant (1567)]Though to blurt out a truth has never been
(In way of merriment) esteem'd a sin.
The flattering Master thus his Boys presents
With Cakes, to make them learn their Rudiments.
[tr. A. B.; ed. Brome (1666)]And mirth commends, and makes our Precepts take,
Thus Teachers bribe their Boys with Figs and Cake
To mind their books.
[tr. Creech (1684)]Yet may not truth in laughing guise be drest?
As masters fondly sooth their boys to read
With cakes and sweetmeats.
[tr. Francis (1747)]Albeit why may not truth in smiles be drest,
As gentle teachers lure the child to come
And learn his horn-book, with a sugar plum?
[tr. Howes (1845)]Though what hinders one being merry, while telling the truth? as good-natured teachers at first give cakes to their boys, that they may be willing to learn their first rudiments.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]Although what does prevent one telling truth in playful mood, as often tutors give their pupils cakes caressingly, to make them care to learn their ABC?
[tr. Millington (1870)]Though, for me,
Why truth may not be gay, I cannot see:
Just as, we know, judicious teachers coax
With sugar-plum or cake their little folks
To learn their alphabet.
[tr. Conington (1874)]What is to prevent one from telling truth as he laughs, even as teachers sometimes give cookies to children to coax them into learning their A B C?
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]And yet -- there’s no law against telling the truth with a smile.
Smart teachers, for instance, give crunchy sweets to children
To make them learn their letters.
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]But tell me what law is violated if someone laughs
while speaking truth? You know how teachers sometimes give
their pupils little cakes, to help them learn their ABC’s.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]Though why can’t one tell the truth
With a smile? Teachers coax children to love
Learning by giving them cookies.
[tr. Raffel (1983)]Although what's there to forbid one who is laughing,
from telling the truth? As loving teachers sometimes
hand out sweets to their pupils
so that they'll want to learn their ABC's.
[tr. Alexander (1999)]Though what bars us
from telling truths with a laugh, the way teachers
sow cookies and reap memorized alphabets?
[tr. Matthews (2002)]Though what stops one telling the truth
While smiling, as teachers often give children biscuits
To try and tempt them to learn their alphabet?
[tr. Kline (2015)]
Why laugh? Change but the name, and the tale is told of you.
[Quid rides? Mutato nomine de te
fabula narratur.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Satires [Saturae, Sermones], Book 1, # 1, “Qui fit, Mæcenas,” l. 68ff (1.1.68-69) (35 BC) [tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]
(Source)
After the Miser scoffs at the story of Tantalus.
Latin sometimes given as "... fabula de te narratur."
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:Takynge but his name,
This tale maye well be toulde of the, thou arte the veray same.
[tr. Drant (1567)]Do you but change the name
Of you is saide the same.
[tr. Florio (1603): Montaigne, Essays, Preface]Why laughst thou Miser? if thy name should be
A little chang'd, the Fables told of thee.
[tr. A. B.; ed. Brome (1666)]What dost Thou laugh? and think that Thou art
Fool change the Name, the Story's told of Thee.
[tr. Creech (1684)]Wherefore do you laugh?
Change but the name, of thee the tale is told.
[tr. Francis (1747)]You smile, as if the story were not true!
Change but the name, and it applies to you.
[tr. Howes (1845)]Why do you laugh? The name changed, the tale is told of you.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]Well, why that laugh? but change the name, and the then the story's told of you.
[tr. Millington (1870)]Laughing, are you? why?
Change but the name, of you the tale is told.
[tr. Conington (1874)]You laugh? Well, just change the name and you'll find that this story,
as a matter of fact, means YOU.
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]What's so funny? Change the name and it's you
the myth's about.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]You laugh? Change
The name, and it's your story too!
[tr. Raffel (1983)]Why laugh? Change the name of the fable
and it applies to you.
[tr. Alexander (1999)]What are you laughing at? Just change the name and the joke's on you.
[Source (2002)]You laugh? Change but
the names and this old story's about you.
[tr. Matthews (2002)]What are you laughing at? Change the name and you're the subject
of the story.
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]Why do you mock him? Alter a name and the same tale
Is told of you.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
You sleep, gaping,
On your bags of gold, adore them like hallowed
Relics not meant to be touched, stare as at gorgeous
Canvases. Money is meant to be spent, it buys pleasure:
Did you know that? Bread, vegetables, wine, you can
Buy almost everything it’s hard to live without.[Congestis undique saccis
indormis inhians et tamquam parcere sacris
cogeris aut pictis tamquam gaudere tabellis.
Nescis, quo valeat nummus, quem praebeat usum?
Panis ematur, holus, vini sextarius, adde
quis humana sibi doleat natura negatis.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Satires [Saturae, Sermones], Book 1, # 1, “Qui fit, Mæcenas,” l. 70ff (1.1.70-75) (35 BC) [tr. Raffel (1983)]
(Source)
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:Thy house, the hell, thy good, the flood, which, thoughe it doe not starte,
Nor stirre from thee, yet hath it so in houlde thy servyle hearte,
That though in foysonne full thou swimmes, and rattles in thy bagges,
Yet tost thou arte with dreadefulle dreames, thy mynde it waves and wagges,
And wisheth after greater things, and that, thats woorste of all,
Thou sparst it as an hollye thynge, and doste thy selfe in thralle
Unto thy lowte, and cockescome lyke thou doste but fille thine eye
With that, which shoulde thy porte preserve, and hoyste thyne honor hye.
Thou scannes it, and thou toots upponte, as thoughe it were a warke
By practysde painters hande portrayde with shaddowes suttle darke.
Is this the perfytte ende of coyne? be these the veray vayles
That money hath, to serve thy syghte? fye, fye thy wysedome fayles.
Tharte misse insenste, thou canst not use't, thou wotes not what to do
Withall, by cates, bye breade, bye drincke, in fyne disburse it so,
That nature neede not move her selfe, nor with a betments scant
Distrainte, and prickd passe forth her daye in pyne and pinchinge want.
[tr. Drant (1567)]Thee,
Who on thy full cramb'd Bags together laid,
Do'st lay thy sleepless and affrighted head;
And do'st no more the moderate use on't dare
To make, then if it consicrated were:
Thou mak'st no other use of all thy gold,
Then men do of their pictures, to behold.
Do'st thou not know the use and power of coyn?
It buys bread, meat, and cloaths, (and what's more wine;)
With all those necessary things beside,
Without which Nature cannot be suppli'd.
[tr. A. B.; ed. Brome (1666)]Thou watchest o'er thy heaps, yet 'midst thy store
Thou'rt almost starv'd for Want, and still art poor:
You fear to touch as if You rob'd a Saint,
And use no more than if 'twere Gold in paint:
You only know how Wealth may be abus'd,
Not what 'tis good for, how it can be us'd;
'Twill buy Thee Bread, 'twill buy Thee Herbs, and
What ever Nature's Luxury can grant.
[tr. Creech (1684)]Of thee the tale is told,
With open mouth when dozing o'er your gold.
On every side the numerous bags are pil'd,
Whose hallow'd stores must never be defil'd
To human use ; while you transported gaze,
As if, like pictures, they were form'd to please.
Would you the real use of riches know?
Bread, herbs, and wine are all they can bestow:
Or add, what nature's deepest wants supplies;
This, and no more, thy mass of money buys.
[tr. Francis (1747)]O'er countless heaps in nicest order stored
You pore agape, and gaze upon the hoard,
As relicks to be laid with reverence by,
Or pictures only meant to please the eye.
With all your cash, you seem not yet to know
Its proper use, or what it can bestow!
"'Twill buy me herbs, a loaf, a pint of wine, --
All, which denied her, nature would repine."
[tr. Howes (1845)]You sleep upon your bags, heaped up on every side, gaping over them, and are obliged to abstain from them, as if they were consecrated things, or to amuse yourself with them as you would with pictures. Are you ignorant of what value money has, what use it can afford? Bread, herbs, a bottle of wine may be purchased; to which [necessaries], add [such others], as, being withheld, human nature would be uneasy with itself.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]You sleepless gloat o'er bags of money gained from every source, and yet you're forced to touch them not as though tabooed, or else you feel but such delight in them as painting gives the sense. Pray don't you know the good of money to you, or the use it is? You may buy bread and herbs, your pint of wine, and more, all else, which if our nature lacked, it would feel pain.
[tr. Millington (1870)]Of you the tale is told:
You sleep, mouth open, on your hoarded gold;
Gold that you treat as sacred, dare not use,
In fact, that charms you as a picture does.
Come, will you hear what wealth can fairly do?
'Twill buy you bread, and vegetables too,
And wine, a good pint measure: add to this
Such needful things as flesh and blood would miss.
[tr. Conington (1874)]You sleep with open mouth on money-bags piled up from all sides, and must perforce keep hands off as if they were hallowed, or take delight in them as if painted pictures. Don't you know what money is for, what end it serves? You may buy bread, greens, a measure of wine, and such other things as would mean pain to our human nature, if withheld.
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]You sleep on the sacks
Of money you've scraped up and raked in from everywhere
And, gazing with greed, are still forced to keep your hands off,
As if they were sacred or simply pictures to look at.
Don't you know what money can do, or just why we want it?
It's to buy bread and greens and a pint of wine
And the things that we, being human, can't do without.
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]You have money bags amassed from everywhere,
just to sleep and gasp upon. To you they're sacred,
or they're works of art, to be enjoyed only with the eyes.
Don't you know the value of money, what it's used for?
It buys bread, vegetables, a pint of wine and whatever else
a human being needs to survive and not to suffer.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]You sleep with open mouth
on sacks accumulated from everywhere
and are constrained to worship them as sacred things,
or rejoice in them as if they were painted tablets.
Do you not know what money serves for?
How it's to be used? to buy bread, vegetables,
a sixth of wine, other things deprived of which
human nature suffers.
[tr. Alexander (1999)]You sleep open-mouthed on a mound of money
bags but won't touch them; you just stare at them
as if they were a collection of paintings.
What's money for? What can it do? Why not
buy bread, vegetables, what you think's wine enough?
Don't you want what it harms us not to have?
[tr. Matthews (2002)]You scrape your money-bags together and fall asleep
on top of them with your mouth agape. They must remain unused
like sacred objects, giving no more pleasure than if painted on canvas.
Do you not realize what money is for, what enjoyment it gives?
You can buy bread and vegetables, half a litre of wine,
and the other things which human life can't do without.
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]... covetously sleeping on money-bags
Piled around, forced to protect them like sacred objects,
And take pleasure in them as if they were only paintings.
Don’t you know the value of money, what end it serves?
Buy bread with it, cabbages, a pint of wine: all the rest,
Things where denying them us harms our essential nature.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
But to go mad with watching, nights and days,
To stand in dread of thieves, fires, runaways
Who filch and fly, — in these if wealth consist,
Let me rank lowest on the paupers’ list.[An vigilare metu exanimem, noctesque diesque
formidare malos fures, incendia, servos,
ne te conpilent fugientes, hoc iuvat? Horum
semper ego optarim pauperrimus esse bonorum.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Satires [Saturae, Sermones], Book 1, # 1, “Qui fit, Mæcenas,” l. 76ff (1.1.76-79) (35 BC) [tr. Conington (1874)]
(Source)
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:To wake all nyghte with shiveryng corpse, both nighte and day to quake,
To sit in dreade, and stande in awe of theeves, leste they should breake
Perforce thy dores, and robb thy chests, and carve thy weasaunte pype:
Leste flickeryng fyer should stroye thy denne, and sease with wastefull grype
Uppon thyne house, leste runagats should pilfer ought from thee,
Be these thy gaines, by rytches repte? then this beheste to me
O Iove betake, that I may be devoyde of all those gooddes
That brews such baneful broyles, or brings of feare suche gastfull fluddes.
[tr. Drant (1567)]To sit up and to watch whole dayes and nights,
To be out of thy wits with constant frights,
To fear that thieves will steal, or fire destroy,
Or servants take thy wealth, and run away.
Is this delightful to thee? then I will
Desire to live without those Riches still.
[tr. A. B.; ed. Brome (1666)]But now to watch all day, and wake all night,
Fear Thieves and Fire, and be in constant fright,
If These are Goods, if these are a delight:
I am content, Heavens grant me sleep and ease,
If These are Goods, I would be poor of These.
[tr. Creech (1684)]But, with continual watching almost dead,
House-breaking thieves, and midnight fires to dread,
Or the suspected slave's untimely flight
With the dear pelf; if this be thy delight,
Be it my fate, so heaven in bounty please,
Still to be poor of blessings such as these!
[tr. Francis (1747)]But what are your indulgencies? All day,
All night, to watch and shudder with dismay,
Lest ruffians fire your house, or slaves by stealth
Rifle your coffers, and abstract your wealth?
If this be affluence -- this her boasted fruit,
Of all such joys may I live destitute!
[tr. Howes (1845)]What, to watch half dead with terror, night and day, to dread profligate thieves, fire, and your slaves, lest they should run away and plunder you; is this delightful? I should always wish to be very poor in possessions held upon these terms.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]Or, pray, is this your joy? To dread thieves' villainy, the firing of your house, or lest your slaves should steal your stores and run away? I'd ever pray to be extremely poor in blessings such as these.
[tr. Millington (1870)]What, to lie awake half-dead with fear, to be in terror night and day of wicked thieves, of fire, of slaves, who may rob you and run away -- is this so pleasant? In such blessings I could wish ever to be poorest of the poor.
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]Would you rather stand guard, half-dead with fright, and tremble
Day and night over sneak thieves, fire, or slaves
Running off with your loot? If this craven type seems to lead
The more abundant life, I prefer to be poor.
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]Staying awake half-dead with terror, living night and day
in fear of ogreish theives, of fires, of slaves who might
rob you as they run away -- you like this life? Of such
advantages I hope I'll always be thoroughly deprived.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]Is it pleasant, lying half dead with fear,
Day and night dreading thieves, and fire, and slaves
Who might rob you and run? With wealth
Like that, I'd choose to be poorer than poor!
[tr. Raffel (1983)]Half dead with fear,
night and day sitting vigil on your loot
to frighten off wicked thieves, arsonists,
slaves fleeing after having robbed you.
Does that please you? Of such benefits
I would always prefer to be most poor.
[tr. Alexander (1999)]Instead, you lie awake in bed half-dead and stiff
as a plank from fear of broad-daylight thieves,
dead-if-night thieves, fire, vengeful and fleeing slaves --
is this the bounty you foreswore pleasure for?
If so, let me be poorest of the poor.
[tr. Matthews (2002)]Or maybe you prefer to lie awake half dead with fright,
to spend your days and nights in dread of burglars or fire
or your own slaves, who may fleece you and then disappear? For myself,
I think I can always do without blessing like those!
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]Does it give you pleasure to lie awake half dead of fright,
Terrified night and day of thieves or fire or slaves who rob
You of what you have, and run away? I’d always wish
To be poorest of the poor when it comes to such blessings.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
If that’s his humour, trust me, I shall spare
No kind of pains to win admittance there:
I’ll bribe his porter; if denied to-day,
I’ll not desist, but try some other way:
I’ll watch occasions — linger in his suite,
Waylay, salute, huzzah him through the street.
Nothing of consequence beneath the sun
Without great labour ever yet was done.[Haud mihi dero:
muneribus servos corrumpam; non, hodie si
exclusus fuero, desistam; tempora quaeram,
occurram in triviis, deducam. Nil sine magno
vita labore dedit mortalibus]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Satires [Saturae, Sermones], Book 1, # 9, “Ibam forte Via Sacra,” l. 56ff (1.9.56-60) (35 BC) [tr. Howes (1845)]
(Source)
A pesky bore and would-be social climber, describing his determination to wheedle his way into the social circle of Horace's friend, Maecenas.
The last line was an old saying, found at least as early as Hesiod, Works and Days, l. 287 (c. 700 BC).
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:I will not fayle. Brybes shall corrupte his chéefist serving men:
Though once or twice the gates be shut I will not cease yet then:
Ile wayte my opportunitie, to meete him in the ways,
To leade him home, to curtsey him, and cap him when he stayes.
There is no good for to be borne, whilste we are lyuyng here:
Excepte we lye, faune, flatter, face, cap, keele, ducke, crouche, smile, fiere.
[tr. Drant (1567)]Well, to my self I will not wanting be,
I'le watch his hours, his servants I will see;
I will salute his Chariot in the street,
I'le bring him home as often as we meet:
We Courtiers strive for interest in vain,
Unless by long observance it we gain.
[ed. Brome (1666)]Well, when Occasion serves, I'le play my part,
I'le spare no cost and charge, try every Art,
Hang on his Coach, wait on him, all I can,
Bribe, Flatter, Cringe, but I'me resolv'd to gain,
'Tis only Labour, Sir, can raise a Man.
[tr. Creech (1684)]"I sha'n't be wanting there," he cried,
"I'll bribe his servants to my side;
To-day shut out, still onward press,
And watch the seasons of access;
In private haunt, in public meet,
Salute, escort him through the street.
There's nothing gotten in this life,
Without a world of toil and strife."
[tr. Francis (1747)]I will not be wanting to myself; I will corrupt his servants with presents; if I am excluded to-day, I will not desist; I will seek opportunities; I will meet him in the public streets; I will wait upon him home. Life allows nothing to mortals without great labor.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]Oh, I shall do my duty, I will bribe his slaves, I won't give up. If on the day on which I call, he says he's not at home, I'll choose my times, I'll meet him at the crossings of the streets, nay, I'll escort him home; you know life gives man nought without some toil.
[tr. Millington (1870)]No fear of me, sir: a judicious bribe
Will work a wonder with the menial tribe:
Say, I'm refused admittance for to-day;
I'll watch my time; I'll meet him in the way,
Escort him, dog him. In this world of ours
The path to what we want ne'er runs on flowers.
[tr. Conington (1874)]I'll not fail myself. I'll bribe his slaves. If shut out to-day, I'll not give up. I'll look for the fitting time ; I'll meet him in the streets; I'll escort him home. Life grants no boon to man without much toil.
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]I bet I don't fail.
I'll bribe all his servants. I'll keep coming back, pick my times,
Meet him walking in town, join his escort. Nothing
In life comes without labor.
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]I’m confident.
I'll bribe his servants. And if today, for example, I’m
repulsed, I won't quit. I'll find a chance, bump into him
in public, walk places with him; without great labor
life gives us mortals naught.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]I'll do it, I'll do it! By god, I'll bribe
His slaves, I'll never give up, I'll get
My foot in his door, somehow. I'll watch,
I'll wait, I'll catch him in the street,
I'll follow him home. Nothing worth doing
Is easy, here on earth!
[tr. Raffel (1983)]O I won't spare myself. I'll bribe his slaves.
Should I be kept out, I won't quit.
I'll keep my eye open for the right moment.
I'll run into him at some street-crossing.
I'll escort him home. Without great toil
life grants nothing to mortals.
[tr. Alexander (1999)]I'm on the case. I'll bribe his slaves. If I'm
repelled today, I won't give up, I'll wait
for the right time and meet him in the streets
and then escort him home.
Life grants no man a prize
who doesn't strive and strive.
[tr. Matthews (2002)]I shan't be found wanting.
I'll bribe his servants; and if today they shut me out,
I'll persevere, bide my time, meet him in the street,
escort him home. "Not without unremitting toil
are mortal prizes won."
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]I’ll not fail:
I’ll bribe his servants with gifts: if I’m excluded
Today, I’ll persist: I’ll search out a suitable time,
Encounter him in the street, escort him home. Life grants
Nothing to mortals without a great effort.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
Use both ends of the pencil if you hope
to write what gets read twice.[Saepe stilum vertas, iterum quae digna legi sint
scripturus.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Satires [Saturae, Sermones], Book 1, # 10, “Nempe incomposito,” l. 72ff (1.10.72-73) (35 BC) [tr. Matthews (2002)]
(Source)
The Romans used a stylus to write on waxed tablets; analogous to a modern pencil with eraser, one end of the stylus was pointy to engrave the letters, the other flat to smooth the wax out for revision.
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:For nowe, who lookes to beare the bel, his doyngs he muste cull,
At home with hym, and better adde, then he dyd erste out pull.
[tr. Drant (1567)]He that would write what should twice reading stand,
Must often be upon the mending hand.
[tr. A. B.; ed. Brome (1666)]When you design a lasting Piece, be wise,
Amend, Correct, again, again Revise.
[tr. Creech (1684)]Would you a reader's just esteem engage?
Correct with frequent care the blotted page.
[tr. Francis (1747)]Spare not erasion, ye that wish your strain,
When once perused, to be perused again.
[tr. Howes (1845)]You that intend to write what is worthy to be read more than once, blot frequently.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]Ofttimes erase, if you intend to write what may prove worth a second reading.
[tr. Millington (1870)]Oh yes! believe me, you must draw your pen
Not once nor twice but o'er and o'er again
Through what you've written, if you would entice
The man that reads you once to read you twice.
[tr. Conington (1874)]Often must you turn your pencil to erase, if you hope to write something worth a second reading.
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]You’ll often have to erase if you mean to write something
Worth reading twice.
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]Keep reversing your pencil if you'd like to write a piece
worth reading twice.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]For you must often
reverse your stylus and revise, if you wish
to write things worthy of being reread.
[tr. Alexander (1999)]If you hope to deserve a second reading you must often employ
the rubber at the end of your pencil.
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]If you want to write what’s worth a second reading,
You must often reverse your stylus, and smooth the wax.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
But he that touches me, (hands off! I cry, —
Avaunt, and at your peril come not nigh!)
Shall for his pains be chaunted up and down,
The jest and byeword of a chuckling Town.[At ille,
Qui me conmorit (melius non tangere, clamo),
Fiebit et insignis tota cantabitur urbe.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Satires [Saturae, Sermones], Book 2, # 1, “Sunt quibus in Satira,” l. 44ff (2.2.44-46) (30 BC) [tr. Howes (1845)]
(Source)
On the dangers of antagonizing a satirist.
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:[...] that none woulde worke me wo.
But worke they doo, but who so does, though he be divelyshe fell,
I blason farre and nere his armes, and wanton touches tell.
He may go howle, and pule for wo, the citizens will scorn hym,
And cause him wyshe full many a tyme, his damme had never borne hym.
[tr. Drant (1567)]And none bereave
The peace I seek. But if there do, believe
Me they will rew't, when with my keen Stile stung,
Through the whole town they shall in pomp be sung.
[tr. Fanshawe; ed. Brome (1666)]Let none hurt Peaceful Me with envious Tongue,
For if he does, He shall repent the wrong:
The warning's fair, his Vices shall be shown,
And Life expos'd to all the Cens'ring Town.
[tr. Creech (1684)]But who provokes me, or attacks my fame,
"Better not touch me, friend," I loud exclaim,
His eyes shall weep the folly of his tongue.
By laughing crowds in rueful ballad sung.
[tr. Francis (1747)]But that man who shall provoke me (I give notice, that it is better not to touch me) shall weep [his folly], and as a notorious character shall be sung through all the streets of Rome.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]But he who shall have once provoked me -- 'twill be better that he touch me not, I cry -- shall rue it, and, become notorious, shall be the theme of jest, through all the town.
[tr. Millington (1870)]But should one seek
To quarrel with me, you shall hear him shriek:
Don't say I gave no warning: up and down
He shall be trolled and chorused through the town.
[tr. Conington (1874)]But if one stir me up ("Better not touch me!" I shout), he shall smart for it and have his name sung up and down the town.
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]But the man who provokes me will weep (HANDS OFF! I WARN YOU)
and his name will be widely rehearsed all over town.
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]But any guy
who gives me any trouble (my motto is “Hands off!”)
will become a tearful celebrity, sung about all over town.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]But attack -- it’s better not to, believe me -- and live
To regret it, your name paraded all over Rome!
[tr. Raffel (1983)]But he who attacks me (O I warn you!
keep your hands to yourself!)
will have cause enough for weeping.
He will be pointed out and ridiculed
by everyone in Rome.
[tr. Alexander (1999)]"Hands off" is my motto:
anybody who gives me any trouble, he'll be
swiftly famous for his pain and snuffling.
[tr. Matthews (2002)]But whoever stirs me up (better keep your distance, I’m telling you!)
will be sorry; he’ll become a thing of derision throughout the city.
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]But he
Who provokes me (better not touch, I cry!) will suffer,
And his blemishes will be sung throughout the City.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
Then why not better use this proud excess
Of worthless wealth? Why lives in deep distress
A man unworthy to be poor, or why
The temples of the gods in ruins lie?
Why not of such a massy treasure spare
To thy dear country, wretch, a moderate share?[Ergo,
quod superat non est melius quo insumere possis?
Cur eget indignus quisquam te divite? Quare
templa ruunt antiqua Deum? Cur, inprobe, carae
non aliquid patriae tanto emetiris acervo?]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Satires [Saturae, Sermones], Book 2, # 2, “Quae virtus et quanta,” l. 101ff (2.2.101-105) (30 BC) [tr. Francis (1747)]
(Source)
Reply when a rich person argues they are so wealthy they need not be concerned about wasteful spending.(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:Therfore, the surplus of thy goodes applye to better ende.
Why wante the silly needie soules refreshyng at thy hande?
Why doo the temples of the gods, without repayryng stande?
Thou corsye carle, thy countrey dere, from hougie substance suche
Shall she have naught, wylt onely thou devoure alone so muche?
[tr. Drant (1567)]What then? Can there no better way be found
To spend that Wealth, with which you so abound?
Why should so many brave men want? and why
Should the Gods ancient Temples ruin'd lie
While you are rich? Vile wretch! Why wilt not thou
Out of thy needless store something allow
For thy dear Countries good?
[tr. A. F.; ed. Brome (1666)]Then is there no way else to spend thy Store?
Why since thou'rt Rich, is any good Man Poor?
Why are not ruin'd Fanes rebuilt? And why
Doth not thy Wealth thy Neighbours wants supply?
And hath thy Country this superfluous Coin?
What measure hath it from this heap of Thine?
[tr. Creech (1684)]And is there then, I ask, no other end
On which the surplus thou might'st nobly spend?
Say, why does merit starve in rags? or say,
Why fall our ancient temples to decay?
Why not from those superfluous hoards bestow
A mite to sooth thy burthen'd country's woe?
[tr. Howes (1845)]Why then have you no better method of expending your superfluities? Why is any man, undeserving [of distressed circumstances], in want, while you abound? How comes it to pass, that the ancient temples of the gods are falling to ruin? Why do not you, wretch that you are, bestow something on your dear country, out of so vast a hoard?
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]Then is there nothing on which you can spend your surplus income better? Why do any suffer want they don't deserve while you are rich? Why do the gods' time-honoured fanes fall to decay? And why, insatiate wretch, don't you mete out from those large stores of wealth some portion for your fatherland which should be dear?
[tr. Millington (1870)]Untold indeed! then can you not expend
Your superflux on some diviner end?
Why does one good man want while you abound?
Why are Jove's temples tumbling to the ground?
O selfish! what? devote no modicum
To your dear country from so vast a sum?
[tr. Conington (1874)]Well, is there no better object on which you can spend your surplus? Why is any worthy man in want, while you are rich? Why are the ancient temples of the gods in ruin? Why, shameless man, do you not measure out something from that great heap for your dear country?
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]And therefore there's no better way for you to unload
Thie surplus? Why should a single deserving man
Be in need when you are so rich? Why do the gods' ancient temples
Fall into ruin? Why not dig into your pile
And measure some out for your own dear country, you wretch?
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]If that's so and you have more
money than you need, why not spend it in a better way?
Why is anyone poor who shouldn't be, if you're so rich?
Why do the gods' old temples need repair? You ingrate,
for your beloved country's sake can't you dip into your stash?
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]Well, in that case, why not find a better
way to spend your surplus? Why,
so long as you are rich, should anyone be lacking
in everything through no fault of his own?
Why are the ancient temples of the gods
falling into ruin? Why, shameless one,
do you not siphon off something
from that great reservoir of money
to present to your dear country?
[tr. Alexander (1999)]There's nothing
better you could spend your surplus for?
Why's any good man poor while you're so rich?
The temples of the gods could use repair.
Are you so shameless you'll give nothing
to your country?
[tr. Matthews (2002)]Well then, can't you think of a better way
to get rid of your surplus? Why should any decent man
be in need while you are rich> Why, if you've any conscience,
don't you give something from that pile you've made to the land of your birth?
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]Well then, isn’t there something
Better you can spend the surplus on? Why, when you’re
Rich, are there any deserving men in need? Why are
The ancient temples of the gods in ruins? Why, man
Without shame, don’t you offer your dear country a tithe
From that vast heap?
[tr. Kline (2015)]
I know, you always come out on top, the great exception.
Well, someday your enemies will laugh and laugh. Consider:
life is full of changes, and who can stand them better? A man
who treats his body and proud mind to luxury, addicting them,
or someone used to little, and to thinking of the future,
a man wise in peacetime, preparing then the tools of war?[Uni nimirum recte tibi semper erunt res,
o magnus posthac inimicis risus. Uterne
ad casus dubios fidet sibi certius? Hic qui
pluribus adsuerit mentem corpusque superbum,
an qui contentus parvo metuensque futuri
in pace, ut sapiens, aptarit idonea bello?]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Satires [Saturae, Sermones], Book 2, # 2, “Quae virtus et quanta,” l. 106ff (2.2.106-111) (30 BC) [tr. Fuchs (1977)]
(Source)
Reply when a rich person argues with the narrator that they are so wealthy they need not be concerned about wasteful spending. The last line, about a wise man preparing for war during times of peace, is often quoted on its own.
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:O ieste, unto thy very foes, for, whether may have more,
(If fortune frowne, and grefes growe on) esperance to his store?
Thou: which was maried to thy mucke, and freshe in gay attyre,
Or he: that dreading chaunce to cum, a litle doth desyre,
And keepes it well, and warylye to helpe in hopelesse tyde:
Lyke as the wyse in golden peace for stormye warre provide.
[tr. Drant (1567)]Cant thou suppose
Thy fate alone will still be prosperous;
Oh, how thine enemies will laugh at thee,
When thou'rt reduc'd to want and beggary!
Which of the two can certainest rely
On his own temper in adversity?
That man whose pamper'd body and his mind,
Have ever been to luxury inclin'd,
Or that's content with little, and doth fear
What may fall out, and wisely does prepare
In time of peace things requisite for war.
[tr. A. F.; ed. Brome (1666)]Kind fortune still, forsooth, shall smile on Thee,
O future sport unto thine Enemy!
And which is better able to endure
Uncertain Chance? And which lives most secure?
He that doth never Fortune's smiles distrust,
But Pampers up himself, and feeds his Lust?
Or He that lives on little now, and spares;
And wisely when 'tis Peace, provides for Wars?
[tr. Creech (1684)]Shalt thou alone no change of fortune know?
Thou future laughter to thy deadliest foe!
But who, with conscious spirit self-secure,
A change of fortune better shall endure?
He, who with such variety of food
Pampers his passions, and inflames his blood,
Or he, contented with his little store,
And wisely cautious of the future hour,
Who in the time of peace with prudent care
Shall for the extremities of war prepare?
[tr. Francis (1747)]Shalt thou alone feel no reverse? Shalt thou
Thrive on for ever as thou thrivest now?
Poor child of scorn! Say which with better grace
May dare to look pert Fortune in the face --
The man that still in luxury's lap reclined
Pampers his body and unnerves his mind --
Or he that, with a little well content
And of his future comforts provident,
Like a wise chief is cautious to prepare
In time of peace the requisites for war?
[tr. Howes (1845)]What, will matters always go well with you alone? 0 thou, that hereafter shalt be the great derision of thine enemies! which of the two shall depend upon himself in exigences with most certainty? He who has used his mind and high-swollen body to redundancies; or he who, contented with a little and provident for the future, like a wise man in time of peace, shall make the necessary preparations for war?
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]No doubt on you alone will fortune never cease to smile! O you doomed soon to be great source of laughter to your enemies when all your wealth is spent! Now which of these two characters will have a surer self-reliance 'gainst reverse? The one who has long used his haughty mind and pampered frame to luxury, or he who, satisfied with humble life, and careful of his future lot, like a good general has well prepared for war in time of peace.
[tr. Millington (1870)]Ay, you're the man: the world will go your way ...
O how your foes will laugh at you one day!
Take measure of the future: which will feel
More confidence in self, come woe, come weal,
He that, like you, by long indulgence plants
In body and in mind a thousand wants,
Or he who, wise and frugal, lays in stores
In view of war ere war is at the doors?
[tr. Conington (1874)]You alone, of course, will always find things go well. Oh, what a laughing-stock you will be some day for your enemies! Which of the two, in face of changes and chances, will have more self-confidence -- he who has accustomed a pampered mind and body to superfluities, or he who, content with little and fearful of the future, has in peace, like a wise man, provided for the needs of war?
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]For you alone, things will always go well: how interesting!
Later on, your foes will get a big laugh out of you.
Of the following two, which one has the better chance
Of remaining self-assured in vicissitude:
The man who has accustomed his mind and magnificent body
To all the luxuries or the man who, content with little,
Fearing the future, provides in time of peace,
As a wise man should, the equipment required for war?
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]Undoubtedly you believe that for you,
only for you, things will always go well.
And then arrives the day when your enemies
will have the last laugh. In the changeable
events of life, who can count on himself
with greater security? -- he who has
proudly habituated both his body
and his soul to superfluous luxuries,
or he who, content with little, and fearful
of the future, has the wisdom to prepare
himself in peacetime for that which serves in war?
[tr. Alexander (1999)]Fate won't snicker at you
ever, you must think; what good fun you'll provide
your enemies one of these days. Who will
fare better when his luck changes, one who
coddles mind and body with all comforts,
or one who can get by on little and
prepares for change, the way a wise man
keeps his weapons oiled and sharp in peacetime?
[tr. Matthews (2002)]For you alone, I suppose, nothing will ever go wrong.
What a whale of a laugh you'll give your enemies! In times of crisis
which of the two will have greater confidence -- the man who has led
his mind and body to expect affluence as of right,
or the man with few needs who is apprehensive of the future
and who in peacetime has wisely made preparations for war?
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]You alone, is it, trouble won’t touch!
O how your enemies will laugh some day! In times
Of uncertainty who’s more confident? The man
Who’s accustomed a fastidious mind and body
To excess, or the man content with little, wary
Of what’s to come, who wisely in peace prepared for war?
[tr. Kline (2015)]
For Nature nere appointed him or me,
Or any else, proprietors to be
Of our own lands, though now the time is his
To turn me out, yet his unthriftiness
Or ignorance of tricks in law, or else
Who e’re survives him, him at last expells,
This Farm which now by Umbrenas name is known
Was mine, but none can say, It is his own;
‘Tis thine, and mine, and his.[Nam propriae telluris erum natura nec illum
nec me nec quemquam statuit: nos expulit ille,
illum aut nequities aut vafri inscitia iuris,
postremum expellet certe vivacior heres.
nunc ager Umbreni sub nomine, nuper Ofelli
dictus, erit nulli proprius, sed cedet in usum
nunc mihi, nunc alii.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Satires [Saturae, Sermones], Book 2, # 2, “Quae virtus et quanta,” l. 129ff (2.2.129-135) (30 BC) [tr. A. B.; ed. Brome (1666)]
(Source)
On accepting the transitory nature of property and possessions.
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:For Nature doth not Me or Him Create,
The proper Lord of such and such Estate:
He forc't us out, and doth possess my Plain;
Another cheat shall force him out again,
Or quircks in Law, or when those fears are past,
His long-liv'd Heir shall force him out at last:
That which was once Ofellus Farm is gone,
Now call'd Umbrena's, but 'tis no Mans own:
None hath the Property, it comes and goes,
As merry Chance, or stubborn Fates dispose,
As God thinks fit, and his firm Nods Decree,
Now to be us'd by Others, now by Me.
[tr. Creech (1684)]Nature will no perpetual heir assign,
Or make the farm his property or mine.
He turn'd us out: but follies all his own,
Or law-suits, and their knaveries unknown,
Or, all his follies and his law-suits past,
Some long-lived heir shall turn him out at last.
The farm, once mine, now bears Umbrenus' name,
The use alone, not property we claim.
[tr. Francis (1747)]For view'd as property, the land, my sons,
Is neither his, nor mine, nor any one's.
He turn'd me out; and him his own excess
Or the law's quirks shall shortly dispossess:
At best, stern Death's ejectment, soon or late,
Shall prove these acres but a life-estate.
Umbrenus' name the farm at present bears;
'Twas lately mine, and shall be soon his heir's:
Now this, now that may sow the ground and till;
But all like are tenants but at will.
[tr. Howes (1845)]For nature has appointed to be lord of this earthly property, neither him, nor me, nor any one. He drove us out: either iniquity or ignorance in the quirks of the law shall [do the same by] him: certainly in the end his long-lived heir shall expel him. Now this field under the denomination of Umbrenus', lately it was Ofellus', the perpetual property of no man; for it turns to my use one while, and by and by to that of another.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]And I say "resident," because nor him nor me nor any one has nature fixed to be the owner of the land in perpetuity. He turned me out, and him profuse expenditure, or ignorance of legal quirk, or certainly at last, his heir, who's longer lived, will oust. The farm now bears Umbrenus' name, and lately bore Ofella's ; 'twill belong in perpetuity to none, but pass into the tenancy now of myself, now of some other man.
[tr. Millington (1870)]Holder, I say, for tenancy's the most
That he, or I, or any man can boast:
Now he has driven us out: but him no less
His own extravagance may dispossess
Or slippery lawsuit: in the last resort
A livelier heir will cut his tenure short.
Ofellus' name it bore, the field we plough,
A few years back: it bears Umbrenus' now:
None has it as a fixture, fast and firm,
But he or I may hold it for a term.
[tr. Conington (1874)]Nature, in truth, makes neither him nor me nor anyone else lord of the soil as his own. He drove us out, and he will be driven out by villainy, or by ignorance of the quirks of the law, or in the last resort by an heir of longer life. To-day the land bears the name of Umbrenus; of late it had that of Ofellus; to no one will it belong for good, but for use it will pass, now to me and now to another.
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]Nature indeed has appointed not him, not me,
Nor anyone else as lord and master of the earth.
He drove us off; some force will in turn drive him out:
Inefficiency, ignorance of some subtle clause of law,
Or at least and at last, no doubt, an heir that outlives him.
The land now known as Umbrenus' was recently called
Ofellus'; it will never belong to anyone, really:
It is loaned to use for our use, now mine, now others'.
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]The land has no owners: nature never granted him a title,
she gave no rights to me or anyone. He pushed us out;
his sloth, or his ignorance of our complicated law,
a surviving heir, if nothing else, will push him out.
Now this field is named after Umbrenus; Ofellus was
the old name. It belongs to no one, but lets itself be used
now by me, now by others.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]I call him so because nature has not
made him absolute master of
this land; neither he nor I nor anyone else.
He drove us out. His incapacity
or ignorance or quirks of the law will push
him out in turn, or ultimately
without fail, the heir who succeeds him.
Now the farm is under the name of
Umbrenus; once it was owned by
Ofellus. It will never be the absolute
property of anyone but will pass
in use now by me now by another.
[tr. Alexander (1999)]Nobody can own the land.
Nature signs no deeds. He harried us out,
and in his turn, his sloth or ignorance
of legal trickery, or at the last, an heir
will supplant him. Now the land bears the name
of Umbrenus. Once the name was Ofellus.
Still it belongs to none, and uses us
to till it, one by one.
[tr. Matthews (2002)]I say "occupant," for by nature's decree possession of the land
isn't his or mine or anyone else's. He turned us out,
and he'll be turned out by his own improvidence, his inability
to cope with the law's cunning, or at last by the heir who outlives him.
The farm is now in Umbrenus' name; not long ago
it was called Ofellus'; no one will own it, but its use will still
be enjoyed -- now by me, in time by another.
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]Nature makes no-one, not he nor I, the true owner
Of the land: he replaced us, and he’ll be replaced
Through incompetence, not grasping legal subtlety,
Or, failing all that, by the heir that outlives him.
Today it’s Umbrenus’ farm, it was Ofellus’ lately,
No one will truly own it, but it will be worked
Now by me, now another.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
So live, my boys, as brave men; and if fortune is adverse, front its blows with brave hearts.
[Quocirca vivite fortes
fortiaque adversis opponite pectora rebus.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Satires [Saturae, Sermones], Book 2, # 2, “Quae virtus et quanta,” l. 135ff (2.2.135-136) (30 BC) [tr. Wickham (1903)]
(Source)
Often misattributed to Cicero.
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:Live bravely then,
And in all troubles quit your selves like men.
[tr. A. B.; ed. Brome (1666)]Then live Resolv'd, my Sons, refuse to yield,
And when Fates press make Constancy your shield.
[tr. Creech (1684)]Then be not with your present lot deprest,
And meet the future with undaunted breast
[tr. Francis (1747)]Bear up then, Boys! and stem the adverse tide,
Patience your stay and providence your guide!
[tr. Howes (1845)]Wherefore, live undaunted; and oppose gallant breasts against the strokes of adversity.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]So, then, live bravely on, and bravely stem adversity's opposing stream.
[tr. Millington (1870)]Then live like men of courage, and oppose
Stout hearts to this and each ill wind that blows.
[tr. Conington (1874)]Live, then, as brave men, and with brave hearts confront the strokes of fate.
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]SO LIVE BRAVE LIVES: STAND UP TO THE BLOWS OF FATE!
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]So then, live, live and endure.
Meet life's difficulties with strong, enduring hearts.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]Good reason whereby you should be
happy and confront adversity
with an undaunted soul.
[tr. Alexander (1999)]Live as brave men,
then, standing chest to chest with changeful fate.
[tr. Matthews (2002)]So be brave
and bravely throw out your chest to meet the force of fate!
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]So live bravely, as men
With brave hearts do, and confront the vagaries of fate.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
Now listen while I show you, how the rest
Who call you madman, are themselves possessed.
Just as in woods, when travellers step aside
From the true path for want of some good guide,
This to the right, that to the left hand strays,
And all are wrong, but wrong in different ways,
So, though you’re mad, yet he who banters you
Is not more wise, but wears his pigtail too.[Nunc accipe, quare
desipiant omnes aeque ac tu, qui tibi nomen
insano posuere. Velut silvis, ubi passim
palantis error certo de tramite pellit,
ille sinistrorsum, hic dextrorsum abit, unus utrique
error, sed variis inludit partibus: hoc te
crede modo insanum, nihilo ut sapientior ille
qui te deridet caudam trahat.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Satires [Saturae, Sermones], Book 2, # 3, “Si raro scribes,” l. 46ff (2.3.46-53) (30 BC) [tr. Conington (1874)]
(Source)
Horace may be quoting or paraphrasing Stertinus here.
The odd "tail" metaphor was a proverbial expression for unknowingly being a fool. Apparently Roman children would tie sheep or other animal tails to the backs of innocent passers-by, then laugh at them.
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:Now leane thyne eares, and listen well, perceave howe all be mad,
Yea those who earste to make the woorse, such mockeries have had.
Admit there be through darkesum wood a speedie footepathe way,
On ryghte syde sum, on lefte syde sum, and all do go a stray
Through wilsumnes of wildernes: the error is all one,
Though through miswandringe diverslye, they diverslye have gone.
Thou maist be mad, frend Damasipp, thou maiste be muche unwyse,
Thy mockers staringe mad also, though in an other guyse.
[tr. Drant (1567)]Nay give me leave, and I'le demonstrate how
He who calls thee fool's as much fool as thou.
Like Trav'lers passing through a Wood, when they
Range up and down missing their ready way,
This to the right that to the left hand strayes,
One error fools them both, though several wayes.
And tho thou think'st thou'rt mad, yet even he
Is not a jot less mad that laughs at thee,
Both to Fool-coats have like propriety.
[tr. "A. B."; ed. Brome (1666)]Some call Thee mad, but those that call Thee so,
Observe, I'll prove them quite as mad as You:
As Men that lose their ways in Woods, divide;
Some go on this, and some on t'other side,
The Error is the same, all miss the Road,
Altho in different Quarters of the Wood.
Thus as they call thee, think that thou art mad;
But those that call thee so are quite as bad.
[tr. Creech (1684)]And they who call you fool, with equal claim
May plead an ample title to the name.
When in a wood we leave the certain way
One error fools us, though we various stray:
Some to the left, some turn to t'other side:
So he, who dares thy madness to deride,
Though you may frankly own yourself a fool,
Behind him trails his mark of ridicule.
[tr. Francis (1747)]Hear now why those who proudly call you mad,
In reason's view are every whit as bad.
As, when bewilder'd in a wood by night
This trav'ller takes the left and that the right,
Each strays, though in a different path he strays,
Mock'd by the self-same error various ways, --
So is it here; and he that laughs at you
May wear the cap; for he is crack-brain'd too.
[tr. Howes (1845)]Now learn, why all those, who have fixed the name of madman upon you, are as senseless as yourself. As in the woods, where a mistake makes people wander about from the proper path; one goes out of the way to the right, another to the left; there is the same blunder on both sides, only the illusion is in different directions: in this manner imagine yourself mad; so that he, who derides you, hangs his tail not one jot wiser than yourself.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]Now listen to the reason why all those who've called you "madman" are as mad as you. As in the woods, when some mistake drives from the beaten track men vaguely wandering, one goes off to the right, another to the left, -- they make the same mistake, but in quite opposite directions; -- so think that you're mad, and that the man who mocks you is no saner than yourself, and a fit laughingstock for boys.
[tr. Millington (1870)]Now let me show you why all who have dubbed you "madman" are quite as crazy as you. When men miss the path in a forest and go astray in every direction, all miss it equally, though one is led wrong on the right side of the road and one on the left. So for yourself, believe that if you are mad it is only in such a sense that the man who is laughing at you drags his tail also.
[tr. Wickham (1903)]Now learn why all, who have given you the name of madman, are quite as crazy as yourself. Just as in a forest, where some error drives men to wander to and fro from the proper path, and this one goes off to the left and that one to the right: both are under the same error, but are led astray in different ways: so believe yourself to be insane only so far that he who laughs at you drags a tail behind him, no whit the wiser man.
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]Now learn
Why it is that all who have fastened the name on you
Are quite as crazy as you. Just as men in a forest,
Whom confusion forces to wander away from the right path,
Will veer off, one to the left, the other to the right,
Misled by the same mistake but misled in different
Directions, so you may consider yourself deluded
To the exact degree of the man who makes fun of you,
Who is dragging a tail behind himself all unawares.
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]Now, hear why you're no madder
than all those others, who bestowed on you the name
‘insane.’ Think of travelers in a forest who get lost
and leave the proper path: one might wander over
to the left, the other to the right. They're deceived
in different ways, but it's the same mistake. Similarly,
you think you're insane, but who is any wiser
among those tail-draggers who make fun of you?
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]Listen: here is why everyone
Who calls you mad is just as senseless himself.
It's like a forest, where people wander this way and that,
Hunting the path and never finding it, not right, or left,
Or center, all confused, all equally lost, but all
Lost in different directions. Believe yourself mad,
If you like, but as sane as the man who laughs at you
And never sees the tail tied behind him.
[tr. Raffel (1983)]Now hear me: why all those who have
called you crazy are brainless like yourself.
As in the woods folk wander off
the true path in error and scatter
here and there, this one to the left,
this one to the right, both of them in
different directions; in the same way
you may consider yourself insane.
Yet you know full well that he who
derides you is no wiser than you
but drags a tail behind him.
[tr. Alexander (1999)]Now, here’s how
those who call you mad are mad. In a wood,
error diverts men from the strict path, some
left, some right. They’re all wrong, each in his
way. Who says he’s right is of course wrong —
is he the one you’ll let pronounce you wrong?
[tr. Matthews (2002)]Now this is the reason
why those who call you mad are every bit as crazy
as you are: You know how people lose their way in the woods --
one goes wandering off to the left, another to the right;
both are equally wrong, though each has strayed in a different
direction. So you may rest assured that if you're to be counted
mad the fellow who laughs at you is no saner himself.
He too has straw in his hair.
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]Now learn why all those who call
You insane, are every bit as foolish themselves.
It’s like a wood, where error leads men to wander
Here and there, from the true path, one off to the left,
Another off to the right, the same error both times,
But leading them in different directions: so know
You’re only as mad as the man no wiser than you
Who laughs at you, but still has a tail pinned behind.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
Now give attention and your gowns refold,
Who thirst for fame, grow yellow after gold,
Victims to luxury, superstition blind,
Or other ailment natural to the mind:
Come close to me and listen, while I teach
That you’re a pack of madmen, all and each.[Audire atque togam iubeo conponere, quisquis
Ambitione mala aut argenti pallet amore,
Quisquis luxuria tristive superstitione
Aut alio mentis morbo calet ; hue propius me,
Dum doceo insanire omnes, vos ordine adite.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Satires [Saturae, Sermones], Book 2, # 3, “Si raro scribes,” l. 77ff (2.3.77-81) (30 BC) [tr. Conington (1874)]
(Source)
Damasippus quoting to Horace the words of Stertinius, the Stoic, whose lecture is the remainder of the Satire.
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:Ye lecherouse, luxuriouse, ye supersticiouse:
Ye shottishe, dotishe, doultish dawes, that nothing can discusse,
Draw on my Clyents one by one, be not agreist ne sad,
Stand stil in stound, kepe whishte (I say) whilst I do prove you mad.
I charge you, you Ambitious, and you that mucker good,
To gerde your gownes, to sit and harcke whilst I do prove you wood.
[tr. Drant (1567)]Come, sayes Stertinius, hearken; nay, come near,
And mind what I shall tell you, whosoe're
Is by a vain and lewd ambition swai'd,
And he whom sordid avarice has made
Look like a Skeleton, all those that be
Given up to a destructive luxury,
To doating superstition are inclin'd,
Or any such distemper of the mind.
Are all stark mad.
[tr. "A. B."; ed. Brome (1666)]Sit still and hear, those whom proud thoughts do swell,
Those that look pale by loving Coin too well;
Whom Luxury Corrupts, or fancy'd fears
Oppress, and empty superstitious Cares;
Or any other Vice disturbs, draw near,
I'le prove that all are mad, sit still, and hear.
[tr. Creech (1684)]Come all, whose breasts with bad ambition rise,
Or the pale passion, that for money dies,
With luxury, or superstition's gloom,
Whate'er disease your health of mine consume,
Compose your robes; in decent ranks draw near,
And, that ye all are mad, with reverence hear.
[tr. Francis (1747)]Haste and adjust the mantle's decent fold,
All ye that madden with the thirst of gold, --
Whose bosoms kindle with ambition's fires, --
Whose blood ferments with lechery's wild desires, --
Who superstition's slavish fear molests, --
In short, whatever frensy rack your breasts,
Approach in ranks, be patient if you can,
And hear me prove you maniacs to a man!
[tr. Howes (1845)]Whoever grows pale with evil ambition, or the love of money: whoever is heated with luxury, or gloomy superstition, or any other disease of the mind, I command him to adjust his garment and attend: hither, all of ye, come near me in order, while I convince you that you are mad.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]I bid you list to me, and now prepare to carefully attend, all you whose cheeks are pale through that pernicious quest of rank or greed of gain; all you whose passions are inflamed by luxury, or hearts distressed by gloomy superstition, or by any possible disease of mind; approach in order nearer me, while I explain that all are mad.
[tr. Millington (1870)]Now I bid my class arrange their gowns neatly and listen. Every one of you who is pale from a bad attack of ambition, or avarice, or in a fever with extravagance or gloomy superstition, or some other mental malady, come nearer to me and hear the oracle each in his turn, as I explain to you that all are mad.
[tr. Wickham (1903)]Now give heed, I bid you, arrange your robes, and whoever of you is pale with sordid ambition or avarice, whoever is feverish with extravagance or gloomy superstition, or some other mental disorder. Hither, come nearer to me, while I prove that you are mad, all of you from first to last.
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]Now I bid you arrange your togas and listen to me,
(1) Whoever is pale with passionate love for money,
(2) Whoever is chill int he gruesome grip of ambition,
(3) Whoever is running a fever for luxury living,
(4) Whoever is all inflamed with religious fears
Or some other mental disease. Draw near to me,
And I'll prove that you all are mad, from the first to the last.
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]"Settle yourself and listen well." So I order everyone
turned sickly pale by a warped ambition or by lust for cash,
all who run a fever from high living, or superstition,
or any other illness that may affect the mind. Come closer,
and I'll explain why you;re all mad. Come on, get in line.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]“Ahem: students: arrange your robes, open your ears:
Anyone whom ambition turns pale, anyone enamored of money,
Anyone feverish for luxuries, sad with superstition, or suffering
From any disease of the mind: come closer, pay attention, I’ll prove
You mad, each and every one of you: come closer!"
[tr. Raffel (1983)]"Now, listen
quietly to me, smooth out the folds
of your toga.
"Whoever grows unhappy
over sordid ambitions, or
out of greed for money; whoever
burns with the fever for luxury,
or miserable superstitions
or other mental ailments,
come here: draw closer to me,
in file, all in a row; and
I will demonstrate to you that
you're all mad: every single one of you.
[tr. Alexander (1999)]Settle down then please and pay attention, I'm talking to all
who are plagued by the curse of ambition or a morbid craving for money,
all who are obsessed with self-indulgence or gloomy superstition,
or any other fever of the soul; come here to me
and I'll convince you, one by one, that you're all mad.
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]Settle down then, please, and pay attention, all you
Who are pale with fierce ambition or love of gold,
Fevered by excess, sad superstition, or another
Disorder of mind: sit nearer to me while I show
That every one of you from first to last is mad.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
But don’t all things,
virtue, a good name, honor, all that’s human and divine,
obey money, lovely money?[Omnis enim res,
Virtus, fama, decus, divina, humanaque pulchris
Divitiis parent.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Satires [Saturae, Sermones], Book 2, # 3, “Si raro scribes,” l. 94ff (2.3.94-96) (30 BC) [tr. Fuchs (1977)]
(Source)
Damasippus (quoting the Stoic philosopher Stertinius?) on the mindset of a miser.
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:For all and every thinge (quod he) vertue, renoumne, and fame,
The corpes, the goste, dothe crouch to coyne and serue vnto the same.
[tr. Drant (1567)]For every thing divine and humane to
Virtue, wit, comeliness and honour do
Submit their Necks to riches splendid sway,
[tr. A. B.; ed. Brome (1666)]For Honor, Vertue, Fame, and all Divine
And Humane Things must follow lovely Coin.
[tr. Creech (1684)]For virtue, glory, beauty, all divine
And human powers, immortal gold! are thine.
[tr. Francis (1747)]All things in his esteem -- fame, virtue, health,
Human and heavenly -- bow to blessed wealth.
[tr. Howes (1845)]For every thing, virtue, fame, glory, divine and human affairs, are subservient to the attraction of riches.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]For merit, fame,
and glory, all things human and divine bow
low before fair Money's power.
[tr. Millington (1870)]For all things human and divine, renown,
Honour, and worth at money's shrine bow down.
[tr. Conington (1874)]Riches, you know, are the beautiful things: everything else, worth, repute, honour, things divine and things human, bow down to them.
[tr. Wickham (1903)]For all things — worth, repute, honour, things divine and human — are slaves to the beauty of wealth.
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]Everything else is the slave of gorgeous wealth:
Virtue, renown, moral dignity, all thing divine
And human.
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]Virtue, fame, honor -- everything human,
Everything divine, is illuminated by money, shines only (to his mind)
In the beauty and glow of wealth.
[tr. Raffel (1983)]In fact,
everything -- virtue, a good name,
honor, human and divine values --
all bowed down to the beauty of riches.
[tr. Alexander (1999)]The fact is that goodness,
honour, reputation -- everything human and divine -- gives way
to the charm of money.
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]He thought all things,
Virtue, reputation, honour, things human or divine
Bowed to the glory of riches.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
Remember, all
Who live on earth are mortal, great and small:
Then take, good sir, your pleasure while you may;
With life so short ’twere wrong to lose a day.[Carpe viam, mihi crede, comes, terrestria quando
mortalis animas vivunt sortita neque ulla est
aut magno aut parvo leti fuga: quo, bone, circa,
dum licet, in rebus jucundis vive beatus;
vive memor quam sis aevi brevis.]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Satires [Saturae, Sermones], Book 2, # 6, “Hoc erat in votis,” l. 93ff (2.6.93-97) (30 BC) [tr. Conington (1874)]
(Source)
The (Epicurean) town mouse encouraging the country mouse to come visit the city.
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:Our earthelie soule is ruinouse, not possible to flye
From dinte of death, by any meanes, the longeste livde muste dye.
Wherfore good sister, whilste thou maiste, do bayth they selfe in blisse,
Remember aye, how shadowye, and shorte this lyfe time is.
[tr. Drant (1567)]Since all shall die, and when
We go, our Mortal souls resolve to dust,
Live happy whil'st thou may'st, as one that must
Be nothing a while hence.
[tr. R. Fanshawe; ed. Brome (1666)]Since all must dye, and must resign their Breath,
Nor great, nor little is secure from Death;
Then spend thy days in Pleasure, Mirth and Sport.
And live like One, that Minds his Life is short.
[tr. Creech (1684)]Since animals but draw their breath,
And have no being after death;
Since nor the little, nor the great,
Can shun the rigour of their fate;
At least be merry while you may,
The life of mice is but a day:
Come then, my friend, to pleasure give
The little life you have to live.
[tr. Francis (1747)]And, since in every creature upon earth
Lurk seeds of dissolution from its birth, --
Since soon or late, however great or small,
Inexorable Death awaits us all, --
Be wise, be happy; revel while you may,
And lengthen by enjoyment life's short day.
[tr. Howes (1845)]Since mortal lives are allotted to all terrestrial animals, nor is there any escape from death, either for the great or the small. Wherefore, my good friend, while it is in your power, live happy in joyous circumstances: live mindful of how brief an existence you are.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]Since creatures earthly all possess by lot but transitory lives, and since and following few lines, there's no escape from death for great or small: -- because of this, I say, dear friend, while you've the chance, live happy in a pleasant state, and well remember how short-lived you are.
[tr. Millington (1870)]Since all that is on earth is mortal, and there is no escape from death for great or small, draw the true conclusion, my dear sir, and live whilst you may in the enjoyment of what is pleasant; live, and remember how short the time is!
[tr. Wickham (1903)]Inasmuch as all creatures that live on earth have mortal souls, and for neither great nor small is there escape from death, therefore, good sir, while you may, live happy amid joys; live mindful ever of how brief your time is!
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]All earthly creatures, after all, have drawn as their lot
A mortal life: there is no escape from death
For large or small. Therefore, while you still can,
Enjoy a happy career, my good man, live well;
Live mindful of how short life really is.
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]For nature gives
us earthly creatures mortal souls, and there's no escaping death
for anyone, large or small. That's why I say, old buddy,
live happily while you can with things that you enjoy;
live mindful of the shortness of your time.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]For no one
Lives forever, not on this earth, and everyone
Dies, rich and poor alike. So
Be happy, live well, while you can.
Remember, it’s not for long!
[tr. Raffel (1983)]All earth's creatures
have mortal souls. And there is no way
to flee this destiny, neither for the great
nor for the humble; all the more reason,
my dear fellow, to live happily
so long as you can amidst pleasures,
keeping ever in mind how brief
are your days.
[tr. Alexander (1999)]We're all slated for death,
whether we be grand or ordinary;
thus we should avidly pursue life's joys
the whole of our short course on earth.
[tr. Matthews (2002)]All earthly creatures have been given mortal souls;
large or small they have no means of escaping death.
So my dear chap, while there's still time, enjoy the good things
of life, and never forget your days are numbered.
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]Since all terrestrial creatures
Are mortal, and there’s no escape from death for great
Or small, then live happily, good friend, while you may
Surrounded by joyful things: mindful while you live
How brief existence is.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
O Fortune, cruellest of heavenly powers,
Why make such game of this poor life of ours?[Heu, Fortuna, quis est crudelior in nos
Te Deus? Ut semper gaudes illudere rebus
Humanis!]Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Satires [Saturae, Sermones], Book 2, # 8, “Ut Nasidieni,” l. 61ff (2.8.61-63) (30 BC) [tr. Conington (1874)]
(Source)
When "disaster" befalls the dinner party of Nasidienus (Rufus), Nomentanus tries to snap him out of a funk by philosophically / melodramatically bemoaning how Fortune treats humanity.
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:Some mourne and blame their sorie fate, why Fortune shoulde be suche,
That they suche blouddes shoulde nothinge have, and others overmuche.
[tr. Drant (1567)]Fortune our Foe, thou art a scurvy Puss!
Ah what a cruel Vixen th' art! ah how
Do'st thou delight to mock us here below!
[tr. I. W. Esq.; ed. Brome (1666)]Unlucky Chance what God is so unkind,
Thou lov'st to break the measures Man design'd.
[tr. Creech (1684)]Fortune, thou cruelest of powers divine,
To joke poor mortals is a joke of thine.
[tr. Francis (1747)]Ah cruel Fortune, foe to human bliss!
Invidious power, it seems thy sole delight
All our enjoyments in the bud to blight.
[tr. Howes (1845)]Alas! O fortune, what god is more cruel to us than thou? How dost thou always take pleasure in sporting with human affairs!
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]O Fortune, what divinity so cruel against us as thou? What joy to thee 'tis ever to frustrate the plans of men!
[tr. Millington (1870)]Ah Fortune, what divine power is more cruel towards us than thou! How thou delightest ever to make sport of human affairs!
[tr. Wickham (1903)]Ah, Fortune, what god is more cruel toward us than thou! How thou dost ever delight to make sport of the life of man!
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]Oh, Fortune, what god
Is more cruel to us than you are! You always have fun
Making fun of mankind!
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]Ah, Fortune! What god more cruel to us than you?
You always like to play around with mankind’s hopes!
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]Ah, Fortune! Is there a crueler god?
How you love to toy with us, playing with our lives!
[tr. Raffel (1983)]What god,
O Fortune, is more cruel toward us than Thou?
How you rejoice in upsetting man’s hopes!
[tr. Alexander (1999)]Fortune, most cruel of all the gods, what
would you do for laughs without us humans?
[tr. Matthews (2002)]Shame on you Lady Luck!
No other god is so cruel. What pleasure you get from mocking
the plans of men!
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]O Fortune, what deity treats us more
Cruelly than you? How you always delight in mocking
Human affairs!
[tr. Kline (2015)]
But like a general, a host displays
his genius best under disaster.[Sed convivatoris uti ducis ingenium res
Adversae nudare solent, celare secundae.]
Horace (65–8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus]
Satires [Saturae, Sermones], Book 2, # 8, “Ut Nasidieni,” l. 73ff (2.8.73-74) (30 BC) [tr. Matthews (2002)]
(Source)
Balatro speaking somewhat sarcastically to the host, Nasidienus (Rufus), about the misfortunes that are "ruining" his dinner party.
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:But (General-like) Masters of Feasts reveal
That temper by cross hits, the good conceal.
[tr. "I. W. Esq"; ed. Brome (1666)]But as in Captains oft ill chance reveals
The Entertainers Wit, which good conceals.
[tr. Creech (1684)]Good fortune hides, adversity calls forth,
A landlord's genius, and a general's worth.
[tr. Francis (1747)]But then a host's, like a commander's, skill,
Obscured by good success, shines forth in ill.
[tr. Howes (1845)]But adversity is wont to disclose, prosperity to conceal, the abilities of a host as well as of a general.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]But yet misfortune will bring forth to view the talents of a host as of a general, as will success conceal the same.
[tr. Millington (1870)]But gifts, concealed by sunshine, are displayed
In hosts, as in commanders, by the shade.
[tr. Conington (1874)]But as with a commander, so with a host -- it is rough weather that discovers the genius, fair weather puts it out of sight.
[tr. Wickham (1903)]But one who entertains is like a general: mishaps oft reveal his genius, smooth going hides it.
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]But the host plays a role like the general's:
when things go wrong, his genius comes most into play;
When the going is smooth, you'd never know he had any.
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]But a party-giver's talent, like a general's, comes out
in case of trouble, lies hidden when the going's good.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]But giving a banquet is like fighting a battle:
A general's real talents show when he's losing, not winning in a walk.
[tr. Raffel (1983)]But such adversities reveal,
while prosperities conceal, the true qualities
of a host which are like those of a general.
[tr. Alexander (1999)]But as with a general so with a host: adverse fortune
has a way of revealing his genius; good fortune obscures it.
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]But as with a general, so a host: adversity
Often reveals his genius, success conceals it.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
