Who knows but rich the sires may be
Of golden Phyllis, ennobling thee?
Certain she mourns her royal race
And household Gods' unequal grace.
Nay, think not that thy love can be
Plebeian-born, of vile degree;
Could she, so true, to gain so dead,
Have been from shameful mother bred?
Her well-shaped ancles, arms, and face,
Unsmitten by her charms, I praise:
Suspect not one, over whose head
Full forty years with haste have fled.
Rectius vives, Licini, neque altum Semper urgendo neque, dum procellas Cautus horrescis, nimium premendo Litus iniquum.
Auream quisquis mediocritatem
Diligit, tutus caret opsoleti
Sordibus tecti, caret invidenda
Saepius ventis agitatur ingens
Pinus, et celsae graviore casu
Decidunt turres, feriuntque summos
Fulgura montis.
Your rule of life, Licinius, be
Nor always pushing out to sea,
Nor, cautiously while storms you fear,
Coasting the dangerous shore too near.
Who in the golden mean delight,
In safety dwell, in sober plight;
No squalor theirs of mouldered shed,
No palace to be envièd.
The giant pine winds oftener lash,
And lofty towers with heavier crash
Fall to the ground; the lightning bright
Strikes the o'ertopping mountain-height.
Sperat infestis, metuit secundis
Alteram sortem bene praeparatum
Pectus. Informis hiemes reducit
Iuppiter, idem
Submovet. Non, si male nunc, et olim Sic erit quondam cithara tacentem Suscitat musam neque semper arcum Tendit Apollo.
Rebus angustis animosus atque
Fortis appare; sapienter idem
Contrahes vento nimium secundo
Turgida vela.
A change of lot the well-primed breast
Hopes at the worst, fears at the best;
Unshapely winters Jove anew
Brings back, and he retires them too.
If now 'tis ill, awhile not so:
Not always bends Apollo's bow;
Sometimes he wakes upon the lute
The muse who heretofore was mute.
In straitened times courageous be,
And bold thy front; yet wise for thee,
When blows too high the favouring gale,
To reef betimes the swelling sail.
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