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Horace · Epistles I

Horace, Epistles 1.2

Homer as a teacher of ethics

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1The writer of the Trojan war. 1Lollius Maximus, while you declaim at Rome, I have been rereading at Praeneste; 3he tells what is fine, what is base, what is useful, what not, more plainly and better than Chrysippus and Crantor; why I have come to think so, listen, unless something keeps you busy. 6The story in which Greece, on account of the love of Paris, is told to have clashed with the barbarian world in a long war, contains the passions of foolish kings and peoples. 9Antenor proposes to cut away the cause of the war: what of Paris? 10He says he cannot be compelled to reign in safety and live in happiness.

11Nestor hastens to settle the quarrels between the son of Peleus and the son of Atreus; 13love burns this one, anger indeed burns both alike; whatever folly the kings commit, the Achaeans are punished. 15Through sedition, guile, crime, lust and anger, wrong is done within the walls of Troy and outside them. 17Again, of what virtue and wisdom can do he has set before us a useful example in Ulysses, who, as conqueror of Troy, looked with foresight on the cities and customs of many men, and, while he sought a return for himself and his comrades over the broad sea, endured many hardships, never sunk by the adverse waves of fortune.

23You know the Sirens' voices and Circe's cups; 24had he drunk these, foolish and greedy, along with his comrades, he would have been, under a harlot mistress, base and witless, and would have lived as an unclean dog or a sow fond of mud. 27We are mere numbers, born to consume the fruits of the earth, Penelope's suitors, good-for-nothings, Alcinous' young men busied more than was right in caring for their skins, who thought it fine to sleep till midday and to lull their cares to rest to the sound of the lyre. 32To cut a man's throat, robbers rise by night; 33to save yourself, will you not wake up?

33And yet if you will not run while healthy, you will run when dropsical; 34and unless you call for a book and a lamp before daylight, unless you bend your mind to studies and honourable pursuits, you will lie awake tortured by envy or love. 37For why do you hurry to remove what hurts your eye; 38but if something is eating your mind, put off the time for curing it for a year? 40He who has begun has half the deed done; 40dare to be wise; 41begin! 41He who puts off the hour of living rightly waits, like the rustic, for the river to run dry; 42but it glides on and will glide on, rolling, for all time. Money is sought, and a wife rich enough to bear children, and untilled woods are tamed by the ploughshare: let him who has been granted what is enough wish for nothing more.

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47Not house and estate, not a heap of bronze and gold, has drawn fever from the sick body of its owner, nor cares from his mind; 49the possessor must be well, if he thinks to make good use of the things he has amassed. 51Whoever desires or fears, his house and property delight him as much as painted pictures delight sore eyes, poultices the gout, lyres ears aching with gathered dirt. 54Unless the vessel is clean, whatever you pour into it turns sour. 55Scorn pleasures; 55pleasure bought with pain does harm; the greedy man is always in want; 56seek a fixed limit for your desire. 57The envious man grows thin at another's rich possessions; 58the tyrants of Sicily found no greater torment than envy. He who will not govern his anger will wish undone what resentment and temper prompted, while he hastens violently to exact penalties for his unsated hatred. Anger is a brief madness: rule your mind; 62unless it obeys, it commands; 63restrain it with reins, restrain it with a chain.

64The trainer shapes the horse, while its neck is tender, to be docile and go the way the rider shows; 65the hound pup, from the time it barked at a deer's hide in the yard, does service in the woods. Now, while a boy, drink in my words with a pure heart, now offer yourself to your betters; the jar will long keep the scent with which it was once steeped when new. 70But if you lag behind or stride on ahead, I neither wait for the slow nor press after those in front.

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Horace, Epistles I. Latin text: H. R. Fairclough, Horace: Satires, Epistles and Ars Poetica (Loeb, 1929), public domain; digital text from the Perseus Digital Library, CC BY-SA. Word analysis: drafted by our own tagger (trained on the hand-checked texts on this site), with every doubtful word checked by hand. English translation and section titles: written for this app, each checked against the Latin by a second reader.