Horace. The Odes and Carmen Saeculare of Horace. Conington, John, translator. London: George Bell and Sons, 1882.

  • You take the bait? then come without delay
  • And bring your ware: be sure, 'tis not my plan
  • To let you drain my liquor and not pay,
  • As might some wealthy man.
  • Come, quit those covetous thoughts, those knitted brows,
  • Think on the last black embers, while you may,
  • And be for once unwise. When time allows,
  • 'Tis sweet the fool to play.
  • The gods have heard, the gods have heard my prayer;
  • Yes, Lyce! you are growing old, and still
  • You struggle to look fair;
  • You drink, and dance, and trill
  • Your songs to youthful Love, in accents weak
  • With wine, and age, and passion. Youthful Love!
  • He dwells in Chia's cheek,
  • And hears her harp-strings move.
  • Rude boy, he flies like lightning o'er the heath
  • Past wither'd trees like you; you're wrinkled now;
  • The white has left your teeth
  • And settled on your brow.