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)]

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, passionate, slothful, drunken, lewd —
No man so savage but he drops the mood,
Lend he but patient ear to counsel good.
[tr. Murison, ed. Kramer (1936)]

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)]

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)]

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)]

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)]

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]

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 that hath once sufficient, let him wishe for no more:
Not howse nor grove, nor yet of gould, or silver ample store
Can rid the owners crasie corpes fro fellon shaking fever.
Nor can the mynd of man from carke, (for al their vigor) sever:
That owner needes must healthfull bee, and other men excel,
Which hauing riches competent, doth cast to use theim well.
[tr. Drant (1567)]

Let him that has enough, desire no more.
Not House and Land, nor Gold and Silver Oare,
The Body's sickness, or the Mind's dispel,
To rellish wealth, the palat must be well.
[tr. Fanshawe; ed. Brome (1666)]

He that hath got enough desires no more:
Did ever Lands, or heaps of Silver ease
The feav'rish Lord? Or cool the hot Disease?
Or free his Mind from Cares? He must have health,
He must be well, that would enjoy his wealth.
[tr. Creech (1684)]

Blest with a competence, why wish for more?
Nor house, nor lands, nor heaps of labour'd ore
Can give their feverish lord one moment's rest,
Or drive one sorrow from his anxious breast:
The fond possessor must be blest with health,
Who rightly means to use his hoarded wealth.
[tr. Francis (1747)]

Nathless who's rich, that is not satisfied? --
Who poor, but he whose wants are unsupplied?
Never did house, or land, or god afford
An hour's short respite to their sickening lord,
Sooth with soft balm the fever's throbbing smart,
Or pluck one rooted sorrow from the heart.
If health be wanting, riches quickly cloy;
'Tis vain to hoard, unless we can enjoy.
[tr. Howes (1845)]

He, that has got a competency, let him wish for no more. Not a house and farm, nor a heap of brass and gold, can remove fevers from the body of their sick master, or cares from his mind. The possessor must be well, if he thinks of enjoying the things which he has accumulated.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]

Having got
What will suffice you, seek no happier lot.
Not house or grounds, not heaps of brass or gold
Will rid the frame of fever's heat and cold.
Or cleanse the heart of care. He needs good health,
Body and mind, who would enjoy his wealth.
[tr. Conington (1874)]

If you've enough, how vain to wish for more!
Nor house, nor lands, nor brass, nor golden store
Can of its fire the fevered frame relieve,
Or make the care-fraught spirit cease to grieve.
Sound, mind and body both, should be his health
To true account who hopes to turn his wealth.
[tr. Martin (1881)]

If a sufficiency belong to any one, let him desire no more. A house and farm, a heap of brass and gold, have never removed fever from the sickly body of their possessor, nor cares from his mind. It is a necessity that their owner be sound in body and mind if he contemplate making a good use of his accumulated substance.
[tr. Elgood (1893)]

But after all, enough is enough, and he who has enough is wise if he does not ask for more. A house, a farm, and a store of gold, these never drove the fever from their owner's aching body, or took the burden of care from his mind. Verily, the man of wealth must have good health if he would enjoy the fruit of all his labors.
[tr. Dana/Dana (1911)]

He, to whose lot sufficient falls, should covet nothing more. No house or land, no pile of bronze or god, has ever freed the owner's sick body of fevers, or his sick mind of cares. The possessor must be sound in health, if he thinks of enjoying the stores he has gathered.
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]

But anyone who has enough should want no more.
No house and farm, no heap of copper and gold
can drive a fever from its owner's weakened flesh
Or his worries from his soul. He must be well
if he wants good use from everything he's gathered.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]

But having enough we should never want more. No house
In town, no land, no piles of gold and bronze,
Have ever freed a man's mind, or eased the fevers
Racking his body. To enjoy treasure you must be sound
In mind, stable in body.
[tr. Raffel (1983)]

The man who has enough should be satisfied
With what he has. Prosperity is never
Going to be able to cure a body that's sick
Or a mind that's sick. You've got to be well if you want
To enjoy the things you own.
[tr. Ferry (2001)]

But when one is blest with enough, one shouldn't long for more.
Possessing a house or farm or a pile of bronze and gold
has never been known to expel a fever from an invalid's body
or a worry from his mind. Unless the owner has sound health
he cannot hope to enjoy the goods he has brought together.
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]

But he who’s handed enough, shouldn’t long for more.
Houses and land, piles of bronze and gold, have never
Freed their owner’s sick body from fever, or his spirit
From care: if he wants to enjoy the goods he’s gathered
Their possessor must be well.
[tr. Kline (2015)]

The wisshinge, and the tremblinge chuffe his house and good doth please,
As portraytures the poreblind eyes, as bathes, the gowtie ease.
As musicke dothe delite the eares with matter stuffde, and sore.
The vessels sowers what so it takes if it be fowle before.
[tr. Drant (1567)]

Who fears, or covets: House to him and Ground,
Are Pictures to blind men, Incentives bound
About a gouty Limb, Musick t'an ear
Dam'd up with filth. A vessel not sincere
Sowres whatsoe're you put into't.
[tr. Fanshawe; ed. Brome (1666)]

He that desires or fears, diseas'd in mind,
Wealth profits him as Pictures do the blind;
Plaisters the Gouty Feet; and charming Airs
And sweetest sounds the stuft and troubled Ears:
The musty Vessels sour what they contain.
[tr. Creech (1684)]

Houses and riches gratify the breast
For lucre lusting, or with fear deprest,
As pictures, glowing with a vivid light,
With painful pleasure charm a blemisht sight;
As chafing soothes the gout, or music cheers
The tingling organs of imposthum'd ears.
Your wine grows acid when the cask is foul.
[tr. Francis (1747)]

Who frets or covets, wealth can please no more
Than pictures him whose eyes with rheum run o'er --
Than furst an flannels can the cripple cheer,
Or warbling music charm an aching ear.
Life's every relish lies beyond his power,
As in the tainted vessel all turns sour.
[tr. Howes (1845)]

To him that is a slave to desire or to fear, house and estate do just as much good as paintings to a sore-eyed person, fomentations to the gout, music to ears afflicted with collected matter. Unless the vessel be sweet, whatever you pour into it turns sour.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]

Who fears or hankers, land and country-seat
Soothe just as much as tickling gouty feet,
As pictures charm an eye inflamed and blear,
As music gratifies an ulcered ear.
Unless the vessel whence we drink is pure,
Whate'er is poured therein turns foul, be sure.
[tr. Conington (1874)]

A house and wealth afford like pleasure to him who is covetous or fearful, as paintings do to a person with defective sightk, fomentations to a gouty man, or music to those whose ears suffer from accumulated dirt. Except a jar be clean, whatever you may pour in turns sour.
[tr. Elgood (1893)]

If a mind is bound by greed or harassed by fears, his house, his home and all his possessions will give him no more pleasure than paintings do to the blind, warm blankets the feverish or music the deaf. In an unclean pitcher sweet milk soon turns sour.
[tr. Dana/Dana (1911)]

To one with fears or cravings, house and fortune give as much pleasure as painted panels to sore eyes, warm wraps to the gout, or citherns to ears that suffer from secreted matter. Unless the vessel is clean, whatever you pour in turns sour.
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]

His house and estate are as much of a pleasure to him
Who wants something more (or is deathly afraid he won't get it)
As dazzling canvases are to a man with sore eyes,
Or nice wram robes to a man who suffers from gout,
Or the music of mournful guitars to infected ears.
If the vase isn't clean, whatever you put in turns sour.
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]

A man who desires or fears enjoys his good as much
as a sore-eyed man likes art, a man with gout
fine shoes, someone with wax-plugged hears a cithara.
Anything you pour into a dirty pot gets spoiled.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]

A miser, or a man endlessly
Greedy, enjoys his mansion, his rolling meadows, as much
As a sore-eyed man takes pleasure in paintings, a gouty man relishes
Hot cloths, a man with pus-filled ears loves music.
If the cup isn't clean, everything you drink is dirty.
[tr. Raffel (1983)]

If your life is governed
By cravings for what you lack, or else by fear
Of losing what you have, then what you have,
Your house and your possessions, give you as much
Pleasure as a picture gives a blind man,
Or an elegant pair of shoes gives a man with gout,
Or music gives to an ear stuffed up with wax.
A glass that isn't clean will guarantee
That whatever you pour into it will sour.
[tr. Ferry (2001)]

A man with fear or desire has as much pleasure from his house
and possessions as sore eyes from a picture, gouty feet
from muffs, or ears from a lyre when aching with lumps of dirt.
When a jar is unclean, whatever you fill it with soon goes sour.
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]

House and fortune grant
As much pleasure to one who’s full of fear and craving
As painting to sore eyes, poultice to gouty joint,
Or lute to ears that ache from accumulated wax.
Unless the jar is clean whatever you pour in sours.
[tr. Kline (2015)]

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)]

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)]

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)]

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)]

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)]

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)]

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)]

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)]

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)]

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)]

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)]

A man may soner beare awaye and rather kepe in mynde
The thinge deryded, then that is prayse worthie in his kynde.
[tr. Drant (1567)]

For Readers so malicious now are growne,
What's bad they'll con, what's good they let alone.
[tr. W. P.; ed. Brome (1666)]

For what's derided by the Censuring Crowd,
Is thought on more than what is just and Good.
[tr. Creech (1684)]

For quickly we discern,
With ease remember, and with pleasure learn,
Whate'er may ridicule and laughter move,
Not what deserves our best esteem and love.
[tr. Francis (1747)]

For sooner caught and steadier to abide
On memory's tablet that which we deride,
Than what revere.
[tr. Howes (1845)]

For one learns sooner, and more willingly remembers, that which a man derides, than that which he approves and venerates.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]

For easier 'tis to learn and recollect
What moves derision than what claims respect.
[tr. Conington (1874)]

For we learn quicker, gladlier recollect
What makes us laugh, than what commands respect.
[tr. Martin (1881)]

The subject of our zeal sooner hears of, and is more inclined to remember, that which any one laughs at in the production than what he approves of and eulogizes.
[tr. Elgood (1893)]

For a man learns more quickly and remembers more easily that which he laughs at, than that which he approves and reveres.
[E.g. (1907)]

For one sooner learns
And easier remembers such concerns
As men deride that those men favor lend
And venerate.
[tr. A. F. Murison (1931); ed. Kramer, Jr. (1936)]

For we all more quickly learn and easily remember
the poems we scorn than those we approve of and respect.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]

And writers of foolish poems often find
They're vividly and scornfully remembered.
[tr. Ferry (2001)]

For a thing that causes merriment is always sooner learnt
and longer remembered than what commands respect and approval.
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]

Men remember more quickly, with greater readiness,
Things they deride, than those they approve and respect.
[tr. Kline (2015)]

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 more deale of us Poets, both the olde, and younge most parte,
Are ofte begylde by shewe of good, affectinge to muche arte.
I laboure to be verye breife, it makes me verye harde.
I followe flowinge easynes, my style is clearely marde
For lacke of pith and saverye sence, Write loftie, thou shalte swell:
He creepes by the grounde to lowe, afrayde with stormie vayne to mell.
He that in varyinge one pointe muche would bringe forth monstruouse store,
Would make the dolphin dwell in wooddes and in the flud the bore.
The shunning of a faulte is such that now and then it will
Procure a greater faulte, if it be not eschewde by skill.
[tr. Drant (1567)]

The greater part, that boast the Muses fire
Father, and sons right worthy of your Sire,
Are with the likenesse of the truth beguil'd:
My selfe for shortnesse labour, and am stil'd
Obscure. Another striving smooth to runne,
Wants strength, and sinewes, as his spirits were done;
His Muse professing height, and greatnesse, swells;
Downe close by shore, this other creeping steales,
Being over-safe, and fearing of the flaw:
So he that varying still affects to draw
One thing prodigiously, paints in the woods
A Dolphin and a Boare amidst the floods:
The shunning vice, to greater vice doth lead,
If in th'escape an artlesse path we tread.
[tr. Jonson (1640), l. 33ff]

Most Poets fall into the grossest faults,
Deluded by a seeming Excellence:
By striving to be short, they grow Obscure,
And when they would write smoothly they want strength,
Their Spirits sink; while others that affect,
A lofty Stile, swell to a Tympany;
Some timerous wretches start at every blast,
And fearing Tempests, dare not leave the Shore.
Others in love with wild variety,
Draw Boars in Waves, and Dolphins in a Wood;
Thus fear of Erring, joyn'd with want of Skill,
Is a most certain way of Erring still.
[tr. Roscommon (1680)]

But oft, our greatest errors take their rise
From our best views. I strive to be concise;
I prove obscure. My strength, my fire decays,
When in pursuit of elegance and ease.
Aiming at greatness, some to fustian soar;
Some in cold safety creep along the shore,
Too much afraid of storms; while he, who tries
With ever-varying wonders to surprise,
In the broad forest bids his dolphins play,
And paints his boars disporting in the sea.
Thus, injudicious, while one fault we shun,
Into its opposite extreme we run.
[tr. Francis (1747)]

Lov'd sire! lov'd sons, well worthy such a sire!
Most bards are dupes to beauties they admire.
Proud to be brief, for brevity must please,
I grow obscure; the follower of ease
Wants nerve and soul; the lover of sublime
Swells to bombast; while he who dreads that crime,
Too fearful of the whirlwind rising round,
A wretched reptile, creeps along the ground.
The bard, ambitious fancies who displays,
And tortures one poor thought a thousand ways,
Heaps prodigies on prodigies; in woods
Pictures the dolphin, and the boar in floods!
Thus ev'n the fear of faults to faults betrays,
Unless a master-hand conduct the lays.
[tr. Coleman (1783)]

The great majority of us poets, father, and youths worthy such a father, are misled by the appearance of right. I labor to be concise, I become obscure: nerves and spirit fail him, that aims at the easy: one, that pretends to be sublime, proves bombastical: he who is too cautious and fearful of the storm, crawls along the ground: he who wants to vary his subject in a marvelous manner, paints the dolphin in the woods, the boar in the sea. The avoiding of an error leads to a fault, if it lack skill.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]

Ye worthy trio! we poor sons of song
Oft find 'tis fancied right that leads us wrong.
I prove obscure in trying to be terse;
Attempts at ease emasculate my verse;
Who aims at grandeur into bombast falls;
Who fears to stretch his pinions creeps and crawls;
Who hopes by strange variety to please
Puts dolphins among forests, boars in seas.
Thus zeal to 'scape from error, if unchecked
By sense of art, creates a new defect.
[tr. Conington (1874)]

We poets, most of us, by the pretence,
Dear friends, are duped of seeming excellence.
We grow obscure in striving to be terse;
Aiming at ease, we enervate our verse;
For grandeur soaring, into bombast fall,
And, dreading that, like merest reptiles crawl;
Whilst he, who seeks his readers to surprise
With common things shown in uncommon wise,
Will make his dolphins through the forests roam.
His wild boars ride upon the billows' foam.
So unskilled writers, in their haste to shun
One fault, are apt into a worse to run.
[tr. Martin (1881)]

The greater part of us poets, O ye Father and Sons worthy of your parent, deceive ourselves under our illusion of what is right. I strive to write briefly, and so write obscurely. Compositions of a smooth nature argue a writer's deficiency both in force and spirit. An attempt at great subjects swells into bombast. A too cautious writer, and dreader of opposition, confines himself to common things. One who desires to amplify a single theme in an extravagant way, puts a dophin innto a wood, and a wild boar into the sea. The avoidance of one error, if unguarded by art, leads to another.
[tr. Elgood (1893)]

Most of us poets are misled by insistence upon our idea of what is right. I try to be brief and I become obscure; aiming at smoothness, we lose in vigor and spirit; attempting the sublime, we become turgid. Timid of the storm, we crawl along the ground. Thus if one lacks art, the over careful avoidance of one fault leads to another.
[tr. Dana/Dana (1911)]

Most of us poets, O father and ye sons worthy of the father, deceive ourselves by the semblance of truth. Striving to be brief, I become obscure. Aiming at smoothness, I fail in force and fire. One promising grandeur, is bombastic; another, overcautious and fearful of the gale, creeps along the ground. The man who tries to vary a single subject in monstrous fashion, is like a painter adding a dolphin to the woods, a boar to the waves. Shunning a fault may lead to error, if there be lack of art.
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]

Most of us poets -- O father, and sons worthy of your father, -- are misled by our idea of what is correct. I try to be terse, and end by being obscure; another strives after smoothness, to the sacrifice of vigour and spirit; a third aims at grandeur, and drops into bombast; a fourth, through an excess of caution and fear of squalls, goes creeping along the ground. He who is bent on lending variety to a theme that is by nature uniform, so as to produce an unnatural effect, is like a man who paints a dolphin in a forest or a wild boar in the waves. If artistic feeling is not there, mere avoidance of a fault leads to some worse defect.
[tr. Blakeney; ed. Kramer, Jr. (1936)]

O father, and sons who deserve a father like yours,
We poets are too often tricked into trying to achieve
A particular kind of perfection: I studiously try
To be brief, and become obscure; I try to be smooth,
And my vigor and force disappear; another assures us
Of something big which turns out to be merely pompous.
Another one crawls on the ground because he's too safe,
Too much afraid of the storm. The poet who strives
To vary his single subject in wonderful ways
Paints dolphins in woods and foaming boars on the waves.
Avoiding mistakes, if awkwardly done, leads to an error.
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]

Most poets, father and young men deserving such a father,
go wrong in trying to be right: I struggle for concision,
I wind up being obscure; others try for smoothness
and lose strength, or for sublimit, and get gas.
One poet, too cautious, fears storms and craws along,
the other craves bizarre variety in a single subject
and paints a dolphin in a forest, a boar among the waves.
Fear of criticism leads to faults if we lack art.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]

Most poets, leaders and led,
Chase a will-o’-the-wisp of abstract Right.
Thus:
I aim
at concision,
I hit
on darkness.
I aim to be smooth, my lines go slack.
The eloquent idealist rants and raves,
The timid, the gutless, crawl like beetles,
Seekers after novelty hang dolphins in trees,
Float a boar in the sea:
O rare effects!
O marvelous.
Ugh.
[tr. Raffel (1983 ed.)]

Father and worthy sons, we poets often
Know what we're aiming at, and often we miss.
I try my best to be terse, and I'm obscure;
I try for mellifluous smoothness, smooth as can be,
And the line comes out as spineless as a worm;
One poet, aiming for grandeur, booms and blusters;
Another one, scared, creeps his way under the storm;
And another, desiring to vary his single theme
In wonderful ways, produces not wonders but monsters --
Dolphins up in the trees, pigs in the ocean.
If you don't know what you're doing you can go wrong
Just out of trying to do your best to do right.
[tr. Ferry (2001)]

Poets in the main (I’m speaking to a father and his excellent sons)
are baffled by the outer form of what’s right. I strive to be brief,
and become obscure; I try for smoothness, and instantly lose
muscle and spirit; to aim at grandeur invites inflation;
excessive caution or fear of the wind induces groveling.
The man who brings in marvels to vary a simple theme
is painting a dolphin among the trees, a boar in the billows.
Avoiding a fault will lead to error if art is missing.
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]

Most poets (dear sir, and you sons worthy of your sire),
Are beguiled by accepted form. I try to be brief
And become obscure: aiming at smoothness I fail
In strength and spirit: claiming grandeur he’s turgid:
Too cautious, fearing the blast, he crawls on the ground:
But the man who wants to distort something unnaturally
Paints a dolphin among the trees, a boar in the waves.
Avoiding faults leads to error, if art is lacking.
[tr. Kline (2015)]

Not lore enough in Poesis, let them be sweetlye fynde,
And let them leade to where them liste the hearers plyante mynde.
[tr. Drant (1567)]

Tis not enough the labouring Muse affords
Her Poëms beauty, but a sweet delight,
To worke the hearers minds, still to the plight.
[tr. Jonson (1640); l. 140ff]

He that would have Spectators share his Grief,
Must write not only well, but movingly,
And raise Mens Passions to what height he will.
[tr. Roscommon (1680)]

'Tis not enough, ye writers, that ye charm
With ease and elegance; a play should warm
With soft concernment; should possess the soul,
And, as it wills, the listening crowd controul.
[tr. Francis (1747)]

'Tis not enough that Plays are polish'd, chaste,
Or trickt in all the harlotry of taste,
They must have passion too; beyond controul
Transporting where they please the hearer's soul.
[tr. Coleman (1783)]

'Tis not enough that poetry combine
All fancy's charms in every sounding line:
Empassion'd let her be, and melt at will
The soul to pity or with horror thrill.
[tr. Howes (1845)]

It is not enough that poems be beautiful; let them be tender and affecting, and bear away the soul of the auditor whithersoever they please.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]

Mere grace is not enough: a play should thrill
The hearer's soul, and move it at its will.
[tr. Conington (1874)]

Fine things won't make a drama: it must thrill
The hearers' souls, and sway them at its will.
[tr. Martin (1881)]

Nor is it enough that poems possess beauty in the construction. They must please and, in whatsoever direction they will, send there the feelings of the auditors.
[tr. Elgood (1893)]

Not enough is it for poems to have beauty: they must have charm, and lead the hearer's soul where they will.
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]

It is not enough for poems to be fine; they must charm, and draw the mind of the listener at will.
[tr. Blakeney; ed. Kramer, Jr. (1936)]

It isn't enough to make lines pretty; they must move,
and affect the hearer's soul exactly as the poet wants.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]

Poems (oh)
can be (oh)
so beautiful
And (oh) so dull.
Poets need charm, too, to seduce our minds.
[tr. Raffel (1983 ed.)]

Sheer abstract beauty isn't enough in a poem;
Its language must so persuade the listener
And act upon his soul that he'll respond
As the poem intends.
[tr. Ferry (2001)]

Correctness is not enough in a poem; it must be attractive,
leading the listener's emotions in whatever way it wishes.
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]

It’s not enough for poems to have beauty: they must have
Charm, leading their hearer’s heart wherever they wish.
[tr. Kline (2015)]

The cheares of men as these will smerke on those that use to smyle:
So are theye wrinchd, when theye do weepe and chaungd within a whyle.
If thou wouldste have me weepe for the firste muste thou pensyfe be.
Thy harmes shall hitte me, when I spy that they have harmed thee.
[tr. Drant (1567)]

To worke the hearers minds, still to the plight.
Mens count'nances, with such as laugh, are prone
To laughter: so they grieve with those that mone:
If thou wouldst have mee weep, bee thou first dround
Thy selfe in tears, then me thy harms will wound,
[tr. Jonson (1640); l. 145ff]

We Weep and Laugh as we see others doe,
He only makes me sad who shews the way,
And first is sad himself, then (Telephus)
I feel the weight of your Calamities,
And fancy all your miseries my Own.
[tr. Roscommon (1680)]

With them, who laugh, our social joy appears;
With them, who mourn, we sympathise in tears;
If you would have me weep, begin the strain,
Then I shall feel your sorrows, feel your pain.
[tr. Francis (1747)]

With those that smile, our face in smiles appears;
With those that weep, our cheeks are bath'd in tears:
To make me grieve, be first your anguish shown,
And I shall feel your sorrows like my own.
[tr. Coleman (1783)]

From face to face as smiles contagious creep,
so weeps the according eye with those that weep.
Who claims my tears, must first display his own;
Then shall I catch his pangs and share his moan.
[tr. Howes (1845)]

As the human countenance smiles on those that smile, so does it sympathize with those that weep. If you would have me weep you must first express the passion of grief yourself; then, Telephus or Peleus, your misfortunes hurt me.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]

A face all smiles makes other faces smile,
A face all tears will tears from others wile.
Unless, then, in your voice a sob I hear,
You will not wring from me a single tear.
[tr. Martin (1881)]

As human countenances laugh with those who laugh so they weep with those who weep. If you desire me to weep, O Telephus or Peleus, yourself must first lead the way; then you thrill through me.
[tr. Elgood (1893)]

As men's faces smile on those who smile, so they respond to those who weep. If you would have me weep, you must first feel grief yourself: then, O Telephus or Peleus, will your misfortunes hurt me.
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]

As the human face answers a smile with a smile, so does it wait upon tears; if you would have me weep, you must first of all feel grief yourself; then and not till then will your misfortunes, Telephus or Peleus, touch me.
[tr. Blakeney; ed. Kramer, Jr. (1936)]

A man’s face is wreathed in smiles when he sees someone smile;
It twists when he sees someone cry; if you expect me
To burst into tears, you have to feel sorrow yourself.
Then your woes will fasten on me, O Telephus, Peleus.
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]

Just as laughter inspires laughter, tears bring tears
to human faces; if you want my tears, you first must
weep yourself. Then your agonies will hurt me too.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]

We smile when we see smiling, weep at tears:
Ask me to sob
when you can sob
yourself --
Then (ah) tragic heroes are tragic
(To me).
[tr. Raffel (1983 ed.)]

Men smile if the language smiles;
They weep if the language truly weeps. If you
Desire to hear me weep, you must truly grieve,
O Peleus or Telephus, and I
Grieve as if I suffered your cause of grief.
[tr. Ferry (2001)]

When a person smiles, people's faces smile in return;
when he weeps, they show concern. Before you can move me to tears,
you must grieve yourself. Only then will your woes distress me.
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]

As the human face smiles at a smile, so it echoes
Those who weep: if you want to move me to tears
You must first grieve yourself: then Peleus or Telephus
Your troubles might pain me.
[tr. Kline (2015)]

In all thy preceptes be thou briefe that learners quicklye maie
Conceive thy words, and that the same in faithfull mynde to staye.
What s'euer is superfluose, to muche, and oftens tould,
Doth fill the hearer paste the brim that long he cannot hould.
[tr. Drant (1567)]

Be briefe in what thou wouldst command, that so.
The docill mind may soon thy precepts know,
And hold them faithfully; for nothing rests
But flowes out, that ore swelleth in full brests.
[tr. Jonson (1640)]

Let all your precepts be succinct and clear,
That ready wits may comprehend them soon,
And faithfull memories retain them long;
For superfluities are soon forgot.
[tr. Roscommon (1680)]

Short be the precept, which with ease is gain'd,
By docile minds, and faithfully retain'd.
If in dull length your moral is exprest,
The tedious wisdom overflows the breast.
[tr. Francis (1747)]

Short be your precepts, and th' impression strong,
That minds may catch them quick, and hold them long!
The bosom full, and satisfied the taste,
All that runs over will but run to waste.
[tr. Coleman (1783)]

In precept be concise: what thus is told
The mind shall grasp with ease, with firmness hold:
While all, that's heap'd superfluous, shocks the taste,
From memory's tablet fades, and runs to waste.
[tr. Howes (1845)]

Whatever precepts you give, be concise; that docile minds may soon comprehend what is said, and faithfully retain it. All superfluous instructions flow from the too full memory.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]

Let all your precepts be concise, for these
Stick to men's minds, and they are grasped with ease;
But tax too much their memory or their taste,
And all your surplus words run off to waste!
[tr. Martin (1881)]

Whenever you instruct, be brief, so that what is quickly said the mind may readily grasp and faithfully hold: every word in excess flows away from the full mind.
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]

Whatever the lesson you would convey, be brief, that your hearers may catch quickly what is said and faithfully retain it. Every superfluous word is spilled from the too-full memory.
[tr. Blakeney; ed. Kramer, Jr. (1936)]

But when you instruct, be brief, so the mind can clearly
Perceive and firmly retain. When the mind is full,
Everything else that you say just trickles away
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]

Be concise in all you teach, so that attentive minds
can quickly see your point and remember it correctly;
everything poured into a full memory will flow back out.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]

Whichever,
Say it quickly, so he who runs can listen, and hear, and learn,
And be better for learning. A bursting head
Opens like a bladder, and leaks away.
[tr. Raffel (1983 ed.)]

As for instruction, make it succinct, so the mind
Can quickly seize on what's being taught and hold it;
Every superfluous word spills out of a full mind.
[tr. Ferry (2001)]

When you are giving advice, be brief, to allow the learner
quickly to seize the point and then retain it firmly.
If the mind is full, every superfluous word is spilt.
[tr. Rudd (2005)]

When you give instruction, be brief, what’s quickly
Said the spirit grasps easily, faithfully retains:
Everything superfluous flows out of a full mind.
[tr. Kline (2015)]

He beares the bell in all respects who good with sweete doth minge:
Who can in delectable style good counsaile with him bring.
His bookes the stationers will bye, beyonte Sea it will goe,
And will conserve the authors name a thowsand yeare, and mo.
[tr. Drant (1567)]

But he hath every suffrage can apply
Sweet mix'd with soure, to his reader, so
As doctrine and delight together goe.
This book will get thee Socij money; this
Will passe the Seas; and long as Nature is
With honour make the far-known Author live.
[tr. Jonson (1640), l. 490ff]

But he that joyns instructions with delight,
Profit with pleasure, carries all the Votes;
These are the Volumes that enrich the Shops,
These pass with admiration through the World,
And bring their Author an Eternal fame.
[tr. Roscommon (1680)]

Profit and pleasure, then, to mix with art,
To inform the judgment, nor to bend the heart,
Shall gain all votes; to booksellers shall raise
No trivial fortune, and across the seas
To distant nations spread the writer's fame,
And with immortal honours crown his name.
[tr. Francis (1747)]

But he who precept with amusement blends,
And charms the fancy while the heart he mends,
Wins every suffrage. Rarely shall he miss
To enrich the Sosii with a piece like this:
Seas shall it traverse, and the writer's page
Hand down his glories to a distant age.
[tr. Howes (1845)]

He who joins the instructive with the agreeable, carries off every vote, by delighting and at the same time admonishing the reader. This book gains money for the Sosii; this crosses the sea, and continues to its renowned author a lasting duration.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]

But he who, mixing grave and gay, can teach
And yet give pleasure, gains a vote from each:
His works enrich the vendor, cross the sea,
And hand the author down to late posterity.
[tr. Conington (1874)]

He wins all suffrages who, while he charms.
Instructs the soul, the heart to virtue warms,
And so what ministers to use unites
With what is beautiful in all he writes.
These are the works on which the Sosii thrive,
That cross the seas, to times remote survive.
[tr. Martin (1881)]

He meets with acceptance everywhere who blends the practical with the pleasant, by equally delighting and instructing the reader. Such a book enriches the Sosii, travels across the sea, and confers immortality on its famous author.
[tr. Elgood (1893)]

He has won every vote who has blended profit and pleasure, at once delighting and instructing the reader. That is the book to make money for the Sosii; this the one to cross the sea and extend to a distant day its author's fame.
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]

He wins every vote who combines the sweet and the useful,
Charming the reader and warning him equally well.
This book will bring in money for Sosius and Son,
Booksellers, travel across the sea, and extend
Its author's fame a long distance into the future.
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]

The poet winning every vote blends the useful with the sweet,
giving pleasure to his reader while he offers him advice.
His book will make the Sosii money and travel overseas,
and far into the years ahead extend its author's name.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]

Tame sense with a dash of sugar,
Storke your reader's cheeks while you box his ears.
Then everyone reads you, your royalties mount
Like gushing oil, foreigners run for your latest title
And read you long after you've turned to dust.
So: make your own memorial!
[tr. Raffel (1983 ed.)]

He who provides to all both profit and pleasure
Wins everybody's vote; his book will bring
Money for bookstore owners and fame across
The seas and down the years to the author himself.
[tr. Ferry (2001)]

Everyone votes for the man who mixes wholesome and sweet,
giving his reader an equal blend of help and delight.
That book earns the Sosii money; it crosses the ocean,
winning fame for the author and ensuring long survival.
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]

Who can blend usefulness and sweetness wins every
Vote, at once delighting and teaching the reader.
That’s the book that earns the Sosii money, crosses
The seas, and wins its author fame throughout the ages.
[tr. Kline (2015)]

He wins every hand who mingles profit with pleasure, by delighting and instructing the reader at the same time.
[ed. Bartlett's]

Yet am righte wrothe that any good should cum from such a sotte.
Good Homer now and then him himselfe will slumber well I wotte.
If that our woorke be longe and huge, so harde it is to kepe
Our selves wakinge, it is dispensed if sumtymes we do sleepe.
[tr. Drant (1567)]

[B]ut am more
Angry, if once I heare good Homer snore.
Though I confesse, that, in a long work, sleep
May, with some right, upon an Author creep.
[tr. Jonson (1640)]

But in long Works, Sleep will sometimes surprize,
Homer himself hath been observ'd to nodd.
[tr. Roscommon (1680)]

Yet hold it for a fault I can't excuse,
If honest Homer slumber o'er his muse;
Although, perhaps, a kind indulgent sleep
O'er works of length allowably may creep.
[tr. Francis (1747)]

Me, who am griev'd and vex'd to the extreme,
If Homer seem to nod, or chance to dream:
Tho' in a work of length o'erlabour'd sleep
At intervals may, not unpardon'd, creep.
[tr. Coleman (1783)]

Vex'd, on the other hand, if now and then
Short fits of slumber creep on Homer's pen:
Howbeit at times the noblest bard, I think,
In works of long attempt may fairly wink.
[tr. Howes (1845)]

And at the same time am I grieved whenever honest Homer grows drowsy. But it is allowable, that sleep should steal upon [the progress of] a long work.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]

While e'en good Homer may deserve a tap,
If, as he does, he drop his head and nap.
Yet, when a work is long, 'twere somewhat hard
To blame a drowsy moment in a bard.
[tr. Conington (1874)]

Nay, when good Homer drops into a nap,
His knuckles I feel half inclined to rap,
Though in long works 'tis no great sin, if sleep
O'er the tired poet now and then shall creep.
[tr. Martin (1881)]

Equally also does it vex me whenever illustrious Homer nods; yet is it lawful that sleep should creep in upon a lengthened production.
[tr. Elgood (1893)]

And yet I also feel aggrieved, whenever good Homer "nods," but when a work is long, a drowsy mood may well creep over it.
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]

Am I, then, to be indignant whenever good Homer nods? Yes, but it is natural for slumber to steal over a long work.
[tr. Blakeney; ed. Kramer, Jr. (1936)]

I also
find I get upset whenever worthy Homer dozes off,
but into works that long a little sleep must steal.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]

I scowl, too,
Whene evern Homer nods, though Morpheus (yawn)
Can't be kept out of a really long poem.
[tr. Raffel (1983 ed.)]

It's true that it bothers me
When Homer nods, but, after all, it's true
That writers of such long works must drowse sometimes.
[tr. Ferry (2001)]

I even
feel aggrieved when Homer, the pattern of goodness, nods.
Sleep, however, is bound to creep in on a lengthy work.
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]

And yet I’m displeased too when great Homer nods,
Somnolence may steal over a long work it’s true.
[tr. Kline (2015)]

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)]

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)]

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 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)]

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)]

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 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 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)]

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)]

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)]