To ly is a horrible-filthy vice; and which an auncient writer setteth forth very shamefully, when he saith, that whosoever lieth, witnesseth that he contemneth God and therewithal feareth men. It is impossible more richly to represent the horrour, the vilenesse and the disorder of it: For, What can be imagined so vile, and base, as to be a coward towardes men, and a boaster towardes God?
[tr. Florio (1603)]

Lying is a base vice; a vice that one of the ancients paints in the most odious colours when he says, "That it is too manifest a contempt of God, and a fear of man." It is not possible more copiously to represent the horror, baseness, and irregularity of it; for what can be imagined more vile, than a man, who is a coward towards man, so courageous as to defy his Maker?
[tr. Cotton (1686)]

Lying is a base vice; a vice that one of the ancients portrays in the most odious colors when he says, “that it is to manifest a contempt of God, and withal a fear of men.” It is not possible more fully to represent the horror, baseness, and irregularity of it; for what can a man imagine more hateful and contemptible than to be a coward toward men, and valiant against his Maker?
[tr. Cotton/Hazlitt (1877)]

Lying is a base vice, and painted in its most shameful colours by one of the ancients, who says that to lie is to give proof that you despise god and at the same time are afraid of men. It is impossible to state its horror, its vileness, and its outrageousness more felicitously. For what baser thing can we imagine than to be a coward toward men and act the brave fellow toward God?
[tr. Zeitlin (1934)]

Lying is an ugly vice, which an ancient paints in most shameful colors when he says that it is giving evidence of contempt for God, and at the same time of fear of men. It is not possible to represent more vividly the horror, the vileness, and the profligacy of it. For what can you imagine uglier than being a coward toward men and bold toward God?
[tr. Frame (1943)]

Lying is a villein's vice, a vice which an Ancient paints full shamefully when he says that it gives testimony to contempt for God together with fear of men. It is not possible to show more richly the horror of it, its vileness and its disorderliness. For what can one imagine more serf-like than to be cowardly before men and defiant towards God?
[tr. Screech (1987)]

But if already -- may the Gods avert the omen! -- the State has been brought to its latest pass, let us, the leaders of the world and of all nations, do what stout gladiators do to die with honour, let us fall with dignity rather than serve with ignominy. [tr. Ker (Loeb) (1926)]

If -- may the Gods avert the omen! -- the final episode in the history of the Res publica has arrived, let us behave like champion gladiators: they meet death honorably; let us, who stand foremost in the world and all nations, see to it that we fall with dignity rather than serve with ignominy.
[tr. Manuwald (2007)]

But if, may the Gods avert the omen, final fate has come to the State, let us, leaders of the world and all nations, do what noble gladiators do to die with dignity: let us fall on our sword rather than serve with ignominy.
[tr. Wiseman]

Live bravely then,
And in all troubles quit your selves like men.
[tr. A. B.; ed. Brome (1666)]

Then live Resolv'd, my Sons, refuse to yield,
And when Fates press make Constancy your shield.
[tr. Creech (1684)]

Then be not with your present lot deprest,
And meet the future with undaunted breast
[tr. Francis (1747)]

Bear up then, Boys! and stem the adverse tide,
Patience your stay and providence your guide!
[tr. Howes (1845)]

Wherefore, live undaunted; and oppose gallant breasts against the strokes of adversity.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]

So, then, live bravely on, and bravely stem adversity's opposing stream.
[tr. Millington (1870)]

Then live like men of courage, and oppose
Stout hearts to this and each ill wind that blows.
[tr. Conington (1874)]

Live, then, as brave men, and with brave hearts confront the strokes of fate.
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]

SO LIVE BRAVE LIVES: STAND UP TO THE BLOWS OF FATE!
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]

So then, live, live and endure.
Meet life's difficulties with strong, enduring hearts.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]

Good reason whereby you should be
happy and confront adversity
with an undaunted soul.
[tr. Alexander (1999)]

Live as brave men,
then, standing chest to chest with changeful fate.
[tr. Matthews (2002)]

So be brave
and bravely throw out your chest to meet the force of fate!
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]

So live bravely, as men
With brave hearts do, and confront the vagaries of fate.
[tr. Kline (2015)]

Come and let us live, my Deare,
Let us love and never feare
What the sourest Fathers say:
Brightest Sol that dyes to-day
Lives againe as blithe to-morrow;
But if we darke sons of sorrow
Set, ô then, how long a Night
Shuts the Eyes of our short light!
[tr. Crashaw (1648)]

Lesbia, live to love and pleasure,
Careless what the grave may say:
When each moment is a treasure
Why should lovers lose a day?
Setting suns shall rise in glory,
But when little life is o'er,
There's an end of all the story --
We shall sleep, and wake no more.
[tr. Langhorne (c. 1765)]

Let's live, and love, my darling fair!
And not a single farthing care
For age's babbling spite;
Yon suns that set again shall rise,
but, when our transient meteor dies,
We sleep in endless night.
[tr. Nott (1795)]

My Lesbia, let us love and live,
And to the winds, my Lesbia, give
Each cold restraint, each boding fear
Of age and all her saws severe.
Yon sun now posting to the main
Will set -- but 'tis to rise again: --
But we, when once our mortal light
Is set, must sleep in endless night!
[tr. Coleridge (1798)]

Love, my Lesbia, while we live,
Value all the cross advice
That the surly greybeards give
At a single farthing's price.
Suns that set again may rise;
We, when once our fleeting light,
Once our day in darkness dies,
Sleep in one eternal night.
[tr. Lamb (1821)]

Live we, love we, Lesbia dear,
And the stupid saws austere,
Which your sour old dotards prate,
Let us at a farthing rate!
When the sun sets, ' tis to rise
Brighter in the morning skies;
But, when sets our little light,
We must sleep in endless night.
[tr. T. Martin (1861)]

The while we live, to love let's give
Each hour, my winsome dearie!
Hence, churlish rage of icy age!
Of love we 'll ne'er grow weary.
Bright Phoebus dies, again to rise;
Returns life's brief light never;
When once 'tis gone, we slumber on
For ever and for ever.
[tr. Cranstoun (1867)]

Living, Lesbia, we should e'en be loving.
Sour severity, tongue of eld maligning,
All be to us a penny's estimation.
Suns set only to rise again to-morrow.
We, when sets in a little hour the brief light,
Sleep one infinite age, a night for ever.
[tr. Ellis (1871)]

Love we (my Lesbia!) and live we our day,
While all stern sayings crabbed sages say,
At one doit's value let us price and prize!
The Suns can westward sink again to rise
But we, extinguished once our tiny light,
Perforce shall slumber through one lasting night!
[tr. Burton (1893)]

Let us live, my Lesbia, and let us love, and count all the rumors of stern old men at a penny's fee. Suns can set and rise again: we when once our brief light has set must sleep through a perpetual night.
[tr. Smithers (1894)]

Come, my Lesbia, no repining;
Let us love while yet we may!
Suns go on forever shining;
But when we have had our day,
Sleep perpetual shall o'ertake us,
And no morrow's dawn awake us.
[tr. Field (1896)]

Let us live, my Lesbia, and love, and value at one farthing all the talk of crabbed old men.
Suns may set and rise again. For us, when the short light has once set, remains to be slept the sleep of one unbroken night.
[tr. Warre Cornish (1904)]

Let us live, my Lesbia, let us love, for the reprobation of soured age let us not care a sou. Suns can set and rise again; but to our brief light, when once it sets, there comes a never-ending night that must be passed in never-ending sleep.
[tr. Stuttaford (1912)]

We live, Lesbia,
And we love, Lesbia,
And what do we care what the world may say?
The sun goes down,
And the sun comes up,
But our little lives pass away
In a day,
Our poor little lives pass away.
[tr. Dement (1915)]

Let us revel in life and love, my darling;
All that crabbed antiquities say idly
We will value together at a farthing.
Suns may set , and return again as brightly:
When our light to its dying spark has fluttered,
We must sleep an eternity of slumber.
[tr. Symons-Jeune (1923)]

O! let us love and have our day,
All that the bitter greybeards say
Appraising at a single mite.
My Lesbia , suns can set and rise:
For us the brief light dawns and dies
Once only, and the rest is night.
[tr. MacNaghten (1925)]

Come let us live and let us love,
And the stern voice of censors prove,
Who bid us from our loving cease,
Exactly worth a penny piece.
For suns can rise and suns can wane
And on the morrow rise again;
But when our one brief day is gone,
For ever we must sleep alone.
[tr. Wright (1926)]

Come, Lesbia, let us live and love,
nor give a damn what sour old men say.
The sun that sets may rise again
but when our light has sunk into the earth,
it is gone forever.
[tr. Gregory (1931)]

Lesbia, let us live only for loving,
and let us value at a single penny
all the loose flap of senile busybodies!
Suns when they set are capable of rising,
but at the setting of our on brief light
night is one sleep from which we never awaken.
[tr. C. Martin (1979)]

Let us live, my Lesbia, let us love,
and all the words of the old, and so moral,
may they be worth less than nothing to us!
Suns may set, and suns may rise again:
but when our brief light has set,
night is one long everlasting sleep.
[tr. Kline (2001)]

Let us live, my Lesbia, and let us love,
and let us judge all the rumors of the old men
to be worth just one penny!
The suns are able to fall and rise:
When that brief light has fallen for us,
we must sleep a never ending night.
[tr. Negenborn (1997)]

Let's live, Lesbia mine, and love --
and as for scandal, all the gossip, old men's strictures,
value the lot at no more than a farthing!
Suns can rise and set ad infinitum --
for us, though, once our bref life's quenched,
there's only one unending night that's left to sleep through.
[tr. Green (2005)]

Come live with me, Lesbia, and be my love,
And ignore the wagging tongues
Of wilted crones and toothless geezers.
Suns rise and set, rise and set again,
But we, when our brief light is blacked,
Must sleep forever, and then forever.
[tr. Hager (2006)]

My Lesbia, let’s live and let’s love,
Let all the rumors of harsh old men
count for only a penny.
Suns can set and rise again:
but when our brief light sets
we must sleep a lonely endless night.
[tr. @sentantiq (2015)]

Let us live, my Lesbia, and let us love,
and let's value all the rumors
of rather stern old men as one penny!
Suns can set and return;
as for us, once our brief light sets,
there is one perpetual night to be slept.
[tr. Wikibooks (2017)]

Let us live, my Lesbia, and let us love,
and let us value all the rumors of
more severe old men at only a penny!
Suns are able to set and return:
when once the short light has set for us
one perpetual night must be slept by us.
[tr. Wikisource (2018)]

My sweetest Lesbia, let us live and love;
And though the sager sort our deeds reprove,
Let us not weigh them: Heaven's great lamps do dive
Into their west, and straight again revive,
But, soon as once set is our little light,
Then must we sleep one ever-during night.
[Thomas Campion, A Book of Airs (1601)]

Come my Celia, let us prove,
While we can, the sports of love;
Time will not be ours forever,
He at length our good will sever.
Spend not then his gifts in vain;
Suns that set may rise again,
But if once we lose this light,
'Tis with us perpetual night.
[Ben Jonson, Volpone, Act 3, sc. 6 (1616)]

When thus the Thief had spoken, he his hands
Lifted aloft with mocking signs, and cried;
"See these, O God, for pointed they're to you."
The Serpents now were to me friends become;
For one entiwn'd himself about this neck,
As if he'd say, You shall not more blaspheme.
[tr. Rogers (1782)]

Sternly he ceas'd, with execrations dire;
And, loud blaspheming Heav'n's Eternal Sire,
He rais'd his ruffian hands, and dare his wrath!
But soon a spiny snake his members binds,
Another round his vocal passage winds,
And stops with many a fold the felon's breath.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 1]

When he had spoke, the sinner rais’d his hands
Pointed in mockery, and cried: “Take them, God!
I level them at thee!” From that day forth
The serpents were my friends; for round his neck
One of then rolling twisted, as it said,
“Be silent, tongue!”
[tr. Cary (1814)]

The plunderer ceased, and twisting both his thumbs
Between the fingers, tossed his hands on high,
Crying, "Take mine homage, God, to thee it comes!"
Thenceforth befriended me the serpent fry.
For one around his neck that moment twined.
As it had said, "None other word will I
From him."
[tr. Dayman (1843)]

At the conclusion of his words, the thief raised up his hands with both the figs, shouting: "Take them, God, for at thee I aim them!"
From this time forth, the serpents were my friends; for one of them then coiled itself about his neck, as if saying: "Thou shalt speak no farther!"
[tr. Carlyle (1849)]

And when his words were ended, there the thief
Upraises his hands in mockery on high --
"Take them, O God! I level them at thee."
Henceforth the serpent race and I were friends;
One, at the point, his neck entwining o'er,
As if -- "I do not wish thee to say more."
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]

He spoke, and when he ended then the thief
His hands uplifted, and with sign obscene,
Exclaim'd -- "Thus I defy thee, oh, thou God!"
Henceforth as friends I held that serpent brood,
For one of them coil'd instant round his neck,
As if he would have said -- "Speak thou no more!"
[tr. Johnston (1867)]

At the conclusion of his words, the thief
Lifted his hands aloft with both the figs,
⁠Crying: "Take that, God, for at thee I aim them."
From that time forth the serpents were my friends;
⁠For one entwined itself about his neck
⁠As if it said: "I will not thou speak more"
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]

At the end of his speech the robber raised his hands with both their figs, crying, 'Take them, God, for at thee I show them.' From that time to this have the serpents been my friends, seeing that one wound itself then about his neck, as though it said: 'I will not that thou say more.'
[tr. Butler (1885)]

When he had closed his speech the robber there
Raised his clenched fingers with the thumb thrust through,
Shouting: "God take him, him to thee I bare."
Then did the serpents prove my guardians true,
For one entwined himself around his neck.
As though it said. Thou shalt not speak anew.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]

At the end of his words the thief raised his hands with both the figs, crying, “Take that, God! for at thee I square them.” Thenceforth the serpents were my friends, for then one coiled around his neck, as if it said, “I will not that thou say more.”
[tr. Norton (1892)]

His words came to an end, the thief held both his hands aloft with scornful gesture, the while he cried aloud: " Take it, God, for it is at Thee I aim it."
From thenceforth were the snakes my friends, for at that moment one of them entwined himself about his neck, as if to say," 'Tis not my will that thou shouldst utter more."
[tr. Sullivan (1893)]

When he had made an end of words, the robber
Upraised his hands with both the figs of insult,
Crying out: "Take it, God, at thee I square them."
Serpents have been endeared to me thenceforward;
For on his neck one coiled itself that moment,
As who should say: "I let thee not speak further."
[tr. Griffith (1908)]

At the end of his words the thief lifted up his hands with both the figs, crying, "Take that, God, for at Thee I square them!" From that time forth the serpents were my friends, for one coiled itself then about his neck, as if to say: I will not have thee say more."
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]

When he had made an end, the thief exclaimed,
Raising his hands with both the figs on high:
"Take thou them, God; at thee, at thee they are aimed."
Thenceforth the serpents were no enemy
To me; for round his neck, as if it hissed
Thou speak'st no more! one coiled and clung thereby.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]

When he had finished, the thief -- to his disgrace --
raised his hands with both fists making figs,
and cried: "Here, God! I throw them in your face!"
Thereat the snakes became my friends, for one
coiled itself about the wretch's neck
as if it were saying: "You shall not go on!"
[tr. Ciardi (1954)]

At the end of his words the thief raised up his hands with both the figs, crying, “Take them, God, for I aim them at you!” From this time forth the serpents were my friends, for one then coiled itself about his neck, as if it said, “You shall say no more.”
[tr. Singleton (1970)]

When he had finished saying this, the thief
shaped his fists into figs and raised them high
and cried: "Here, God, I've shaped them just for you!"
From then on all those snakes became my friends,
for one of them at once coiled round his neck
as if to say, "That's all you're going to say."
[tr. Musa (1971)]

When he had finished with his words, the thief
raised high his fists with both figs cocked and cried:
“Take that, o God; I square them off for you!”
From that time on, those serpents were my friends,
for one of them coiled then around his neck,
as if to say, “I'll have you speak no more."
[tr. Mandelbaum (1980)]

When he had finished speaking the thief
Raised both his hands, making obscene gestures,
And called out: ‘There you are God, so much for you!’
From that moment the serpents were my friends,
Because one of them wound about his neck
As if to say: ‘I want you to say no more.'
[tr. Sisson (1981)]

The thief held up his hands when he was through,
And "God," he cried, making the fig with both --
"Take these: I aim them squarely up at you!"
The serpents were my friends from that time forth.
For then one coiled itself about his neck
As if to say, "That's all then, from your mouth."
[tr. Pinsky (1994)]

At the end of his words the thief raised his hands with both the figs, crying: “Take them, God, I’m aiming at you!”
From then on snakes have been my friends, because one of them wrapped itself around his neck, as if to say “I won’t let him say more.”
[tr. Durling (1996)]

At the end of his speech, the thief raised his hands, both making the fig, the obscene gesture, with thumb between fingers, shouting: ‘Take this, God, I aim it at you.’ From that moment the snakes were my friends, since one of them coiled itself round his neck, as if hissing: ‘You will not be able to speak again.’
[tr. Kline (2002)]

His words now reached their end. And then the robber
hoisted hands on high -- a fig-fuck formed in each --
and screamed: "Take that! I'm aiming, God, at you!"
From that point on, the serpents were my friends.
For one entwined its length around his neck
as if to say: "I'd have him speak no more."
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2006)]

Then, making the figs with both his thumbs,
the thief raised up his fists and cried:
'Take that, God! It's aimed at you!'
From that time on the serpents were my friends,
for one of them coiled itself around his neck
as if to say, 'Now you shall speak no more.'
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]

His words thrown down, the thief held up his hands,
Making an obscene gesture with both his thumbs
And crying: "For you, O God, I aim this at you!"
And then I began to like the snakes, for one
Of them was quickly coiling around his neck,
As if saying" "You've talked as much as you're allowed to."
[tr. Raffel (2010)]

The thief raised both his hands when he said this,
Two fingers up from each, the figs: and cried
“You get it, God? You know what you can kiss?”
From then on, all the snakes were on my side,
For one looped round his neck, as if to say
“You've said enough.”
[tr. James (2013)]

And what is an authentic madman? It is a man who preferred to become mad, in the socially accepted sense of the word, rather than forfeit a certain superior idea of human honor. So society has strangled in its asylums all those it wanted to get rid of or protect itself from, because they refused to become its accomplices in certain great nastinesses. For a madman is also a man whom society did not want to hear and whom it wanted to prevent from uttering certain intolerable truths.