Time is the coin of your life. You spend it. Do not allow others to spend it for you.
 

The profit of life consistes not in the space, but rather in the use. Some man hath lived long, that hath had a short life. Follow it whilst you have time. It consists not in number of yeares, but in your will, that you have lived long enough.
[tr. Florio (1603)]

Neither does the Utility of living consist in the length of days, but in the well husbanding and improving of Time, and such an one may have been who has longer continued in the World than the ordinary Age of Man; that has yet liv’d but a little while. Make use of Time while it is present with you. It depends upon your Will, and not upon the number of Days, to have a sufficient length of Life.
[tr. Cotton (1686)]

The benefit of life consists not in the space, but in the use of it. Such a one may have lived a long time who yet may be said to have enjoyed but a short life. Give attention to time while it is present with you. It depends upon your will and not upon the nujmber of years that you have lived long enough.
[tr. Friswell (1868)]

The utility of living consists not in the length of days, but in the use of time; a man may have lived long, and yet lived but a little. Make use of time while it is present with you. It depends upon your will, and not upon the number of days, to have a sufficient length of life.
[tr. Cotton/Hazlitt (1877)]

The usefulness of living is not in length of time, but in its use. A man may have lived long who has lived little. Look well to life whilst you are in life. It depends on your will, not on the number of your years, whether you ahve loved long enough.
[tr. Ives (1925)]

Wherever your life ends, it is all there. “The advantage of living is not measured by length, but by use; some men have lived long, and lived little; attend to it while you are in it. It lies in your will, not in the number of years, for you to have lived enough.
[tr. Frame (1943)]

The value of life lies not in the length of days but in the use you make of them; he has lived for a long time who has little lived. Whether you have lived enough depends not on the number of your years but on your will.
[tr. Rat (1958), 1.20]

The usefulness of living lies not in duration but in what you make of it. Some have lived long and lived little. See to it while you are still here. Whether you have lived enough depends not on a count of years but on your will.
[tr. Screech (1987)]

Life is worth not its extent but its use. Some lived little who lived a long while. Pay attention to life while you live yours. Whether you have lived enough depends on your will, not on a number of years.
[tr. HyperEssays (2025)]

For herein lieth all indeed, ever to look upon all worldly things, as things for their continuance, that are but for a day: and for their worth, most vile, and contemptible, as for example, What is man? That which but the other day when he was conceived was vile snivel; and within few days shall be either an embalmed carcass, or mere ashes. Thus must thou according to truth and nature, throughly consider how man's life is but for a very moment of time, and so depart meek and contented: even as if a ripe olive falling should praise the ground that bare her, and give thanks to the tree that begat her.
[tr. Casaubon (1634) 4.39]

Mankind are poor Transitory Things! They are one Day in the Rudiments of Life, and almost the next, turn'd to Mummie, or Ashes. Your way is therefore to manage this Minute Wisely, and part with it chearfully; And like a ripe Nut when you drop out of the Husk, be sure to speak well of the Season, and make your Acknowledgments to the Tree that bore you.
[tr. Collier (1701)]

And, in general, all human affairs are mean, and but for a day. What yesterday was a trifling embryo, to morrow shall be an embalmed carcase, or ashes. Pass this short moment of time according to nature, and depart contentedly; as the full ripe olive falls of its own accord, applauding the earth whence it sprung, and thankful to the tree that bore it.
[tr. Hutcheson/Moor (1742)]

On the whole, then, a wise man will consider all human affairs as of a day's continuance, contemptible, and of little importance. Man himself is to-day in embryo, to-morrow a mummy or a handful of ashes.
Let us then employ properly this moment of time allotted us by fate, and leave the world contentedly; like a ripe olive dropping from its stalk, speaking well of the soil that produced it, and of the tree that bore it.
[tr. Graves (1792)]

To conclude, always observe how ephemeral and worthless human things are, and what was yesterday a little mucus, to-morrow will be a mummy or ashes. Pass then through this little space of time conformably to nature, and end thy journey in content, as an olive falls off when it is ripe, blessing nature who produced it, and thanking the tree on which it grew.
[tr. Long (1862)]

In short, mankind are poor, transitory things! They are one day in the rudiments of life, and almost the next turned to mummy or ashes. Your way is therefore to manage this minute in harmony with nature, and part with it cheerfully; and like a ripe olive when you droop, be sure to speak well of the mother that bare you.
[tr. Collier/Zimmern (1887)]

In a word, look at all human things, behold how fleeting and how sorry -- but yesterday a mucus-clot, to-morrow dust or ashes! Spend your brief moment then according to nature's law, and serenely greet the journey's end, as an olive falls when it is ripe, blessing the branch that bears it and giving thanks to the tree which gave it life.
[tr. Rendall (1898)]

In sum, look upon human things, and behold how short-lived and how vile they are; mucus yesterday, tomorrow ashes or pickled carrion. Spend, then, the fleeting remnant of your time in a spirit that accords with Nature, and depart contentedly. So the olive falls when it is grown ripe, blessing the ground from whence it sprung, and thankful to the tree that bore it.
[tr. Hutcheson/Chrystal (1902)]

In a word, fail not to note how short-lived are all mortal things, and how paltry -- yesterday a little mucus, to-morrow a mummy or burnt ash. Pass then through this tiny span of time in accordance with Nature, and come to thy journey's end with a good grace, just as an olive falls when it is fully ripe, praising the earth that bare it and grateful to the tree that gave it growth.
[tr. Haines (Loeb) (1916)]

This is the whole matter: see always how ephemeral and cheap are the things of man -- yesterday, a spot of albumen, to-morrow, ashes or a mummy. Therefore make your passage through this span of time in obedience to Nature and gladly lay down your life, as an olive, when ripe, might fall, blessing her who bare it and grateful to the tree which gave it life.
[tr. Farquharson (1944)]

Observe, in short, how transient and trivial is all mortal life; yesterday a drop of semen, tomorrow a handful of spice or ashes. Spend, therefore, these fleeting moments on earth as Nature would have you spend them, and then go to your rest with good grace, as an olive falls in its season, with a blessing for the earth that bore it and a thanskgiving to the tree that gave it life.
[tr. Staniforth (1964)]

In a word, never cease to observe how evanescent are all things human, and how worthless: today a drop of mucus, and tomorrow a mummy or a pile of ash. So make your eay through this brief moment of time as one who is obedient to nature, and accept your end with a cheerful heart, just as an olive might ripen and fall, blessing the earth that bare it and grateful to the tree that gave it growth.
[tr. Hard (1997 ed.); Hard (2011 ed.)]

In general, consider always how ephemeral and cheap human affairs are; yesterday slime, tomorrow pickle or ashes. Go through this momentary time in accordance with nature, and come to an end cheerfully, like an olive that falls when it is ripe, speaking well of the earth who bore it you and giving thanks to the tree that begat you.
[tr. Hard? (1997 ed.)]

In short, know this: Human lives are brief and trivial. Yesterday a blob of semen; tomorrow embalming fluid, ash.
To pass through this brief life as nature demands. To give it up without complaint.
Like an olive that ripens and falls.
Praising its mother, thanking the tree it grew on.
[tr. Hays (2003)]

The conclusion of this? You should always look on human life as short and cheap. Yesterday sperm: tomorrow a mummy or ashes.
So one should pass through this tiny fragment of time in tune with nature, and leave it gladly, as an olive might fall when ripe, blessing the earth which bore it and grateful to the tree which gave it growth.
[tr. Hammond (2006)]

So always keep in mind how short-lived and insignificant human things really are: yesterday a glob of mucous, tomorrow a corpse or a pile of ashes. So pass this brief amount of time in accordance with Nature and dissolve graciously, just as a ripe olive falls to the ground praising both he earth which gave it life and the tree which nourished it.
[tr. Needleman/Piazza (2008)]

Mark how fleeting and paltry is the estate of man, yesterday in infancy, tomorrow embalmed or in ashes. For the hairsbreadth of time assigned to thee, live rationally, and part with life gracefully, as a ripe olive falls, blessing the season that bore it and thanking the tree that gave it life.
[ed. Yeroulanos (2016)]

Even as if any of the gods should tell thee, Thou shalt certainly die to-morrow, or next day, thou wouldst not, except thou wert extremely base and pusillanimous, take it for a great benefit, rather to die the next day after, than to-morrow; (for alas, what is the difference!) so, for the same reason, think it no great matter to die rather many years after, than the very next day.
[tr. Casaubon (1634), 4.38]

Put the case some God should acquaint you, you were to Die to Morrow, or next Day at farthest. Under this Warning, you would be a very Poor Wretch if you should strongly solicit for the longest time: For alas ! how inconsiderable is the difference? In like manner if you would Reason right, and compute upon the Notion of Eternity, you would not be much concerned whether your Life was up to Morrow, or a Thousand Years hence.
[tr. Collier (1701)]

If any God would assure you, you must die either to morrow, or the next day at farthest, you would little matter whether it were to morrow or the day after; unless you were exceedingly mean-spirited: for how trifling is the difference? Just so, you should repute it of small consequence, whether you are to die in extreme old age, or to morrow.
[tr. Hutcheson/Moor (1742)]

If any God should inform you that you were infallibly to die, either to-morrow or the following day at fartherst; you would not be very solicitous, nor deem it any great favour, unless you were the most abject wretch breathing, to have a reprieve till the third day, instead of having your death take place to-morrow. For how inconsiderable is the difference! In like manner, you ought not to esteem it a matter of any great importance, whether your life be prolonged to the most distant period, or be terminated to-morrow.
[tr. Graves (1792)]

If any god told thee that thou shalt die to-morrow, or certainly on the day after to-morrow, thou wouldst not care much whether it was on the third day or on the morrow, unless thou wast in the highest degree mean-spirited; for how small is the difference! So think it no great thing to die after as many years as thou canst name rather than to-morrow.
[tr. Long (1862)]

Put the case, some god should acquaint you you were to die to-morrow, or next day at farthest. Under this warning, you would be a very poor wretch if you should strongly solicit for the longest time. For, alas! how inconsiderable is the difference? In like manner, if you would reason right, you would not be much concerned whether your life was to end to-morrow or a thousand years hence.
[tr. Collier/Zimmern (1887)]

Suppose some god informed you that to-morrow, or at most the day after, you would be dead, you would not be greatly exercised whether it were the day after rather than to-morrow, not if you have a spark of spirit -- for what difference is there worth considering? So, too, never mind whether it is ever so many years hence, or to-morrow.
[tr. Rendall (1898)]

If some God were to inform you that you must die tomorrow, or the next day at farthest, you would take little concern whether it was to be tomorrow or the next day; that is if you were not the most miserable of cowards. For how small is the difference? Wherefore, account it of no great moment whether you die after many years or tomorrow.
[tr. Hutcheson/Chrystal (1902)]

Just as, if a God had told thee, Thou shalt die to-morrow or in any case the day after, thou wouldest no longer count it of any consequence whether it were the day after to-morrow or to-morrow, unless thou art in the last degree mean-spirited, for how little is the difference! -- so also deem it but a trifling thing that thou shouldest die after ever so many years rather than to-morrow.
[tr. Haines (Loeb) (1916)]

Just as, if one of the gods told you: 'to-morrow you will be dead or in any case the day after to-morrow', you would no longer be making that day after important any more than to-morrow, unless you are an arrant coward (for the difference is a mere trifle), in the same way count it no great matter to live to a year that is an infinite distance off rather than till to-morrow.
[tr. Farquharson (1944)]

If a god were to tell you, “Tomorrow, or at best the day after, you will be dead,’ you would not, unless the most abject of men, be greatly solicitous whether it was to be the later day, rather than the morrow -- for what is the difference between them? In the same way, do not reckon it of great moment whether it will come years and years hence, or tomorrow.
[tr. Staniforth (1964)]

Suppose that a god announced that you were going to die tomorrow “or the day after.” Unless you were a complete coward you wouldn’t kick up a fuss about which day it was -- what difference could it make? Now recognize that the difference between years from now and tomorrow is just as small.
[tr. Hays (2003)]

Just as if a god told you that you would die tomorrow or at least the day after tomorrow, you would attach no importance to the difference of one day, unless you are a complete coward (such is the tiny gap of time): so you should think there no great difference between life to the umpteenth year and life to tomorrow.
[tr. Hammond (2006)]

If some god told you that you would die tomorrow, or the next day at the latest, you would not consider death on the third day to be anything better than death on the second day, unless you were a wholly base person. And so just the same, do not think that living many years is any better than dying tomorrow.
[tr. Needleman/Piazza (2008)]

If one of the gods informed you, ‘You will die tomorrow or, at any rate, the day after tomorrow’, you would consider it no great matter whether it were the day after tomorrow rather than tomorrow, unless, indeed, you were a terrible coward, for the difference is minimal; so likewise, consider it no great matter whether you will die after many a long year rather than tomorrow.
[tr. Hard (2011 ed.)]

If one of the gods told you that tomorrow you would be dead or at least all events the day after tomorrow, you would no longer consider that it mattered whether it was the day after tomorrow rather than tomorrow, unless you were extremely small-minded (what is the difference between them?). In the same way, do not regard it as very important whether you live for many years rather than tomorrow.
[tr. Gill (2013)]

The time therefore that any man doth live, is but a little, and the place where he liveth, is but a very little corner of the earth, and the greatest fame that can remain of a man after his death, even that is but little, and that too, such as it is whilst it is, is by the succession of silly mortal men preserved, who likewise shall shortly die, and even whiles they live know not what in very deed they themselves are: and much less can know one, who long before is dead and gone.
[tr. Casaubon (1634)]

Life moves in a very narrow Compass; yes, and Men live in a poor Corner of the World too : And the most lasting Fame will stretch but to a sorry Extent. The Passage on't is uneven and craggy, and therefore it can't run far. The frequent Breaks of Succession drop it in the Conveyance : For alas ! poor transitory Mortals, know little either of themselves, or of those who were long before them.
[tr. Collier (1701)]

It is a very little time which each man lives, and in a small corner of the earth; and the longest surviving fame is but short, and this conveyed through a succession of poor mortals, each presently a-dying; men who neither knew themselves, nor the persons long since dead.
[tr. Hutcheson/Moor (1742)]

The life of every one, therefore, is evidently a mere point in time. This world indeed in which we live is but a mere corner of the universe, and the most extensive posthumous fame a very trifling affair; and is to pass through a succession of insignificant mortals, who know little of themselves, and much less therefore of those who have long submitted to their destiny.
[tr. Graves (1792)]

Short then is the time which every man lives; and small the nook of the earth where he lives; and short too the longest posthumous fame, and even this only continued by a succession of poor human beings, who will very soon die, and who know not even themselves, much less him who died long ago.
[tr. Long (1862)]

Life moves in a very narrow compass; yes, and men live in a small corner of the world too. And the most lasting fame will stretch but to a sorry extent; for, alas! poor transitory mortals who hand it down know little even of themselves, much less of those who died long before their time.
[tr. Collier/Zimmern (1887)]

Man's life has but a tiny span, tiny as the corner of earth on which he lives, short as fame's longest tenure, handed along the line of short-lived mortals, who do not even know themselves, far less the dead of long ago.
[tr. Rendall (1898)]

Short is the time which each of us has to live, and small the corner of the earth he has to live in. Short is the longest posthumous fame, and this preserved through a succession of poor mortals, soon themselves to die; men who knew not themselves, far less those who died long ago.
[tr. Hutcheson/Chrystal (1902)]

Little indeed, then, is a man's life, and little the nook of earth whereon he lives, and little even the longest after-fame, and that too handed on through a succession of manikins, each one of them very soon to be dead, with no knowledge even of themselves, let alone of a man who has died long since.
[tr. Haines (Loeb) (1916)]

Little the life each lives, little the corner of the earth he lives in, little even the longest fame hereafter, and even that dependent on a succession of poor mortals, who will very soon be dead, and have not learnt to know themselves, much less the man who was dead long years ago.
[tr. Farquharson (1944)]

Human life is thus a little thing, and little too even the fame that endures for the longest, and even that is passed on from one poor mortal to another, all of whom will die in no great while, and who have no knowledge even of themselves, let alone of one who has died many long years before.
[tr. Hard (1997 ed.)]

The span we live is small -- small as the corner of the earth in which we live it. Small as even the greatest renown, passed from mouth to mouth by short-lived stick figures, ignorant alike of themselves and those long dead.
[tr. Hays (2003)]

Sure, life is a small thing, and small the cranny of the earth in which we live it: small too even the longest fame thereafter, which is itself subject to a succession of little men who will quickly die, and have no knowledge even of themselves, let alone of those long dead.
[tr. Hammond (2006)]

Small indeed is the life which each person lives, and tiny is the corner of the earth where he lives. Small too is even the longest after-glory, which is handed off, as in a relay race, to others who will soon be dead, not having know even themselves, let alone someone who died long ago.
[tr. Needleman/Piazza (2008)]

The space of each person’s existence is thus a little thing, and little too is the corner of the earth on which it is lived, and little too even the fame that endures for the longest; and even that is passed on from one poor mortal for another, all of whom will die in no great while, and who have no knowledge even of themselves, let alone of one who has died many long years before.
[tr. Hard (2011 ed.)]

For each of us, small is our life and small is the corner of earth where it is lived; small too is even the longest fame after death, and this depends on a succession of little human beings who will quickly die and who do not know themselves, let along the one who has died first.
[tr. Gill (2013)]

Who knows if Iove unto thy life's past score
Will adde one morning more?
When thou art dead, and Rhadamanthus just
Sentence hath spoke thee dust,
Thy blood, nor eloquence can ransome thee,
No nor thy piety.
[tr. Fanshaw; ed. Brome (1666)]

Who knows if stubborn Fate will prove so kind,
And joyn to this another day?
What e're is for thy greedy Heir design'd,
Will slip his Hands, and fly away:
When thou art gone, and Minos Sentence read,
Torquatus there is no return,
Thy Fame, nor all thy learned Tongue can plead,
Nor goodness shall unseal the Urn.
[tr. Creech (1684)]

Can Hope assure you one more day to live
From powers above?
You rescue from your heir whate'er you give
The self you love.
When life is o'er, and Minos has rehearsed
The grand last doom,
Not birth, nor eloquence, nor worth, shall burst
Torquatus' tomb.
[tr. Conington (1872)]

Who knows whether the gods above will add to this day’s reckoning the space of to-morrow? Every thing, which you shall indulge to your beloved soul, will escape the greedy hands of your heir. When once, Torquatus, you shall be dead, and Minos shall have made his awful decisions concerning you; not your family, not you eloquence, not your piety shall restore you.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]

Who knows, if they who all our Fates control,
Will add a morrow to thy brief to-day?
Then think of this, -- What to a friendly soul
Thy hand doth give shall 'scape thine heir's rapacious sway.
When thou, Torquatus, once hast vanish'd hence,
And o'er thee Minos' great decree is writ,
Nor ancestry, nor fire-lipp'd eloquence,
Nor all thy store of wealth to give thee back were fit.
[tr. Martin (1864)]

Who knows if the gods will yet add a to-morrow
To the sum of to-day?
Count as saved from an heir's greedy hands all thou givest
To that friend -- thine own self.
When once dead, the resplendent tribunal of Minos
Having once pronounced doom,
Noble birth, suasive tongue, moral worth, O Torquatus,
Reinstate thee no more.
[tr. Bulwer-Lytton (1870)]

Who can tell whether the Gods above will add an existence for us during to-morrow to that of to-day? All, however, thou mayest indulge thyself in will escape the greedy grasp of thy heir. When once thou hast fallen, and Minos shall have passed his impartial judgment upon thee, neither thy pedigree, Torquatus, thine eloquence, nor thy goodness, will restore thee back to earth.
[tr. Elgood (1893)]

Who can tell whether the Gods will add the hours of tomorrow
On to the sum of to-day?
All will escape your heir's greedy clutches, which with a friendly
Mind you have spent in your life.
For, when once thou hast died, and over thee Minos in judgment
Hath made his grand last award,
Then neither birth shall avail, Torquatus; nor eloquence bring thee
Back, nor thy fear of the Gods.
[tr. Phelps (1897)]

Who knoweth if the gods above may add to-morrow's time
To this day's count?
All that thou givest to thy soul's delighting will escape
An heir's greedy hands.
When once thou'rt dead, and Minos o'er thee shall have made
August decision.
Not, O Torquatus, not thy birth, or flow of word, not piety,
Will reinstate thee.
[tr. Garnsey (1907)]

Who knows that Heaven to this day's gift will please
To-morrow's sun to lend?
And all thy goods a greedy heir will seize,
Save what thyself did spend.
Once thou art dead, and Minos' high decree
Shall speak to seal thy doom
Though noble, pious, eloquent thou be,
These snatch not from the tomb.
[tr. Marshall (1908)]

Who knows whether the gods will add to-morrow’s time to the sum of today ? All things which thou grantest to thine own dear soul, shall escape the greedy clutches of thine heir. When once thou hast perished and Minos has pronounced on thee his august judgment, not family, Torquatus, nor eloquence, nor righteousness shall restore thee again to life.
[tr. Bennett (Loeb) (1912)]

Who knows whether the gods who reign above
Add a new day's span to the sum of this?
Live while you live; that which the soul you love,
Your self, enjoys, your greedy heir will miss.
Once you are dead, once Minos, judge of men,
Has fixed by doom august your destiny,
Not rank, Torquatus, shall restore you then;
Not eloquence; not even piety.
[tr. Mills (1924)]

Who knows whether the all-high gods intend an addition
Made to the sum of today?
Give to your own dear self: that gift is the only possession
Fingers of heirs cannot grasp.
Once you are dead, Torquatus, and Minos delivers his august
Verdict upon your affairs,
No blue blood, no good deeds done, no eloquent pleading
Ever shall conjure you back.
[tr. Michie (1963)]

Who knows if the gods will add tomorrow's
Hours to your time today?
Whatever you give yourelf, here, now,
No greedy heir can clutch at.
Torquatus, once you're buried, once
The Lord of Death has judged you,
Nothing will bring you back, no ancient
Name, no noble words, no one's love.
[tr. Raffel (1983)]

Who knows whether tomorrow the gods will have
Anything more to give than they have given?
What you can give to your own dear heart today
Will not fall into the clutch of your heir tomorrow.
Torquatus, once you've died and Minos the judge
Has spoken his words down there, then neither rank
Nor eloquence nor virtue -- none of these --
Can ever bring you back to life again.
[tr. Ferry (1997)]

Who knows whether the celestial gods will add tomorrow’s time to the sum of today’s. All which you bestow upon your very own soul escapes the avid hands of your heir. Once you are dead and Minos has pronounced on you his solemn judgment, neither your noble origin, Torquatus, nor your eloquence, nor your piety will bring you back to life.
[tr. Alexander (1999)]

Who knows whether the gods above will add tomorrow’s hours
to the total of today?
All those you devote to a friendly spirit will escape from
the grasping hands of your heirs.
When once you’re dead, my Torquatus, and Minos pronounces
his splendid judgement on you,
no family, no eloquence, no righteousness even,
can restore you again.
[tr. Kline (2015)]

And if some god wolde give me puissaunce that I whiche am an olde man myght retourne ayen in to childhode and that I shulde braye and krye in my swathyng cloth and in my cradelle like a childe, I wolde it not but I wolde even refuse it.
[tr. Worcester/Worcester/Scrope (1481)]

I will say more, if God would grant me now in this age to return again to my infancy and to be as young as a child that lieth crying in his cradle, I would refuse and forsake the offer with all my might; neither would I when I have already in a manner run the whole race and own the goal, be again revoked from the end marks to the lists, or place where I took my course at the first setting out. For who would be contented, when he hath gotten the best game, to be forced to race again for the same?
[tr. Newton (1569)]

And if any god would grant me to be now a child in my cradle againe, and to be young, I would refuse it. Neither would I, having runne my full course, be called back again.
[tr. Austin (1648)]

Should some God tell me, that I should be born,
And cry again, his offer I should scorn;
Asham'd when I have ended well my race,
To be led back, to my first starting place.
[tr. Denham (1669)]

And should any of the Gods give me the Liberty of beginning again the Circle of my Years, I should desire to be excused, and be unwilling to begin the Race again, when I am just arrived at the Goal.
[tr. Hemming (1716)]

Or should any heavenly Power grant me the Privilege of turning back, if I pleased, from this Age to Infancy, and to set out again from my Cradle, I would absolutely refuse it; for as I have now got well nigh to the End of my Race, I should be extremely unwilling to be called back, and obliged to start again.
[tr. Logan (1744)]

The sincere truth is, if some divinity would confer upon me a new grant of my life, and replace me once more in the cradle, I would utterly, and without the least hesitation, reject the offer; having well-nigh finished my race, I have no inclination to return to the goal.
[tr. Melmoth (1773)]

But if any god should grant me that I should become a boy again and wail in the cradle, I would strenuously decline it; nor indeed would I wish, as if I had run my course, to be called back from the goal to the starting-post.
[Cornish Bros. ed. (1847)]

For if any god should grant me, that from this period of life I should become a child again and cry in the cradle, I should earnestly refuse it: nor in truth should I like, after having run, as it were, my course, to be called back to the starting-place from the goal.
[tr. Edmonds (1874)]

Indeed, were any god to grant that from my present age I might go back to boyhood, or become a crying child in the cradle, I should steadfastly refuse; nor would I be willing, as from a finished race, to be summoned back from the goal to the starting-point.
[tr. Peabody (1884)]

Nay, if some god should grant me to renew my childhood from my present age and once more to be crying in my cradle, I would firmly refuse; nor should I in truth be willing, after having, as it were, run the full course, to be recalled from the winning-crease to the barriers.
[tr. Shuckburgh (1895)]

Nay, if some God should offer to me now
Once more to be a boy, and shed sad tears
Within my cradle, I'd refuse the gift.
Nor do I wish, my course being fully run,
To leave the winning for the starting post.
[tr. Allison (1916)]

Nay, if some god should give me leave to return to infancy from my old age, to weep once more in my cradle, I should vehemently protest; for, truly, after I have run my race I have no wish to be recalled, as it were, from the goal to the starting-place.
[tr. Falconer (1923)]

Indeed if some god granted me the power to cancel my advanced years and return to boyhood, and wail once more in the cradle, I should firmly refuse. Now that my race is run, I have no desire to be called back from the finish to the starting point!
[tr. Grant (1960; 1971 ed.)]

If I knew that some god had arranged for me to be transformed into an infant bawling in its cradle, I would make a dreadful fuss; once my race was run and I was coming down the final stretch, I would have no desire to be sent all the way back to the starting gate.
[tr. Cobbold (2012)]

And by the same token, if any miracle wouild grant me the chance to be a boy again and to cry in the nursery, I would certainly refuse. There is no way I want to be recalled, as it were, from the finish line to the starting blocks now that I have run the whole race.
[tr. Gerberding (2014)]

And if some god allowed me to get back again
To the cradle, as one of those crying toddlers,
From my ancient age, I’d refuse there and then.
Having run most of my course, I couldn’t face
To be recalled from the finish to the starting place.
[tr. Bozzi (2015)]

Truly, if some god graciously granted that I could put aside my years and start over, crying in my cradle again, I would vehemently refuse. Since I have almost finished my race, why would I want to be called back to the starting line?
[tr. Freeman (2016)]

Even if some god should permit that I would return to the time of my birth from this age, I would sternly refuse -- for, truly, I do not wish to restart as if to retrace a race run from the finish line to the starting post.
[tr. @sentantiq (2018), sec. 84]

I have
Liv'd, and perform'd that course my fortune gave,
And now the earth must my great shade seclude.
[tr. Ogilby (1649)]

My fatal course is finish'd; and I go,
A glorious name, among the ghosts below.
[tr. Dryden (1697)]

I have lived, and finished the race which fortune gave me. And now my ghost shall descent illustrious to the shades below.
[tr. Davidson/Buckley (1854)]

My life is lived, and I have played
     The part that Fortune gave,
And now I pass, a queenly shade,
     Majestic to the grave.
[tr. Conington (1866)]

I have lived,
And have achieved the course that fortune gave.
And now of me the queenly shade shall pass
Beneath the earth.
[tr. Cranch (1872), l. 855ff]

I have lived and fulfilled Fortune's allotted course; and now shall I go a queenly phantom under the earth.
[tr. Mackail (1885)]

I, I have lived, and down the way fate showed to me have passed;
And now a mighty shade of me shall go beneath the earth!
[tr. Morris (1900)]

My life is lived; behold, the course assigned
By Fortune now is finished, and I go,
A shade majestic, to the world below.
[tr. Taylor (1907), st. 86, l 768ff]

My life is done.
I have accomplished what my lot allowed;
and now my spirit to the world of death
in royal honor goes.
[tr. Williams (1910)]

My life is done and I have finished the course that Fortune gave; and now in majesty my shade shall pass beneath the earth.
[tr. Fairclough (1916)]

I have lived, I have run the course that fortune gave me,
And now my shade, a great one, will be going
Below the earth.
[tr. Humphries (1951)]

I have lived, I have run to finish the course which fortune gave me:
And now, a queenly shade, I shall pass to the world below.
[tr. Day-Lewis (1952)]

I have lived
and journeyed through the course assigned by fortune.
And now my Shade will pass, illustrious,
beneath the earth.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1971), l. 900ff]

I have lived my life out to the very end
And passed the stages Fortune had appointed.
Now my tall shade goes to the under world.
[tr. Fitzgerald (1981), l. 907ff]

I have lived my life and completed the course that Fortune has set before me, and now my great spirit will go beneath the earth.
[tr. West (1990)]

I have lived, and I have completed the course that Fortune granted,
and now my noble spirit will pass beneath the earth.
[tr. Kline (2002)]

I have lived, and I have completed the course
Assigned by Fortune. Now my mighty ghost
Goes beneath the earth.
[tr. Lombardo (2005)]

I'm done with life; I've run the course Fate gave me.br> Now my noble ghost goes to the Underworld.
[tr. Bartsch (2021)]

By the mouth of the Hypanis, which on the side of Europe, falleth into the Black Sea; Aristotle reports certain Insects to be bred, that live but one day. Such therefore, of these, as dye at two in the Afternoon, dye elderly; but such, as at Sunset, very aged; and the more, if it be on the longest day in Summer. Compare our life, at longest, with Eternity; we shall be found, in a manner, as short-liv'd as are these Insects.
[tr. Wase (1643)]

Aristotle saith, there is a kind of insect, near the river Hypanis;, which runs from a certain part of Europe, into the Pontus, whose life consists but of one day; those that die at the eighth hour, die in full age; those who die when the sun sets, very old, especially when the days are at the longest. Compare our l9ongest age with eternity, and we shall be found as short-lived as those little animals.
[tr. Main (1824)]

At the river Hypanis, which flows into the Euxine, from a part of Europe, certain little insects, Aristotle says, are born to live but a day. Then, one of these, that dies at two afternoon, dies well-advanced in life; but he that dies at sunset, especially about the summer solstice, decrepit. Compare our longest age with eternity; we shall be found in much the same brevity with these little insects.
[tr. Otis (1839)]

On the River Hypanis, which flows from some part of Europe into the Euxine Sea, Aristotle says that there is a certain species of insects that live only a day. One of them that died at the eighth hour of the day would have died at an advanced age; one of them that died at sunset, especially at the summer solstice, would have been decrepit. If we compare our life with eternity, we shall find ourselves of almost as brief a being as those insects.
[tr. Peabody (1886)]

By the river Hypanis which flows into the Black Sea on the European side, Aristotle says some tiny creatures are born which live for one day. So of these one which has died in the eight hour has died at an advanced age; one which has died at sunset is senile, all the more if it dies at the summer solstice. Compare the longest human life with eternity; we shall turn out to be almost as short-lived as these tiny creatures.
[tr. Douglas (1985)]

Aristotle reports that along the river Hypanis, which flows into Pontus from Europe, tiny creatures are born that live but a single day. If they die at the eighth hour they're of an advanced age, if at sunset, they're decrepit -- even more so on the solstice. Measure the longest human lifespan against eternity: you'll find we live about as briefly as those little creatures do.
[tr. Habinek (1996)]

On the river Hypanis which flows from part of Europe into the Black Sea, Aristotle says that little creates are born which live for a single day. One of them, therefore, that has died at the eighth hour of the day has died at an advanced age; one that has died at sunset is senile, and all the more so if this occurs at the summer solstice. Compare our longest lifetime with eternity: we shall be found to be virtually as short-lived as those little creatures.
[tr. Davie (2017)]

Aristotle says that certain little beasts which live for only one day are born near the Hypanis, which flows from part of Europe into the Black Sea. One of these who dies at sunrise dies as a youth; one who dies at noon has already achieved an advanced age; but one who departs at the setting of the sun dies old, especially if it is the solstice. Compare the entirety of our life with eternity, and we will be found to exist for just as short a time as that animal.
[tr. @sentantiq (2019), quoting from Petrarch, Secretum 3.17]