The odes, epodes and Carmen Seculare of Horace (1719)

Be calm, my Friend! be easie and sedate,
And bend your Soul to ev'ry State:
However Fortune smiles or knits her Brow,
Let not your Passions rise too high, or sink too low.

Be calm, tho' heavily thy Moments pass,
Or tho' reclining on the Grass
You spend the Day in Mirth, and chear your Soul
With rich Falernian Liquor from the sparkling Bowl.

There, where the Poplar and the stately Pine
Meet in the Shade, and closely twine,
To form the Bow'r with thick intangled Bows,
And where the limpid Stream in curling Murmurs flows;

Now let your Slaves their Wines and Odours bring,
And all the Flow'rs that grace the Spring,
Whilst Plenty lasts, whilst you are gay and young,
And the indulgent Fates your Silken Thread prolong.

You must your Fields and pleasant Seat forego,
Where Tiber's yellow Waters flow;
You must to Pluto's gloomy Realm repair,
And leave your heaps of Wealth to a luxurious Heir.

What matters your high Blood and noble Birth,
When you are tumbled low in Earth?
'Tis the same thing, if naked on the Shore
You lye expos'd a Prey to Hell's relentless Pow'r.

In the eternal Urn our Lots are cast,
And to the Shades below we haste;
The grisly Ferryman shall waft us o'er,
Thence never to return to Earth's bright Confines more.

University of Virginia Library

ODE III. To Delius.