Horace
Odes - Livre I
Tu ne quæsieris.
ASK not ('tis forbidden knowledge), what our
destined term of years,
Mine and yours; nor scan the tables of your
Babylonish seers.
Better far to bear the future, my Leuconoe, like
the past,
Whether Jove has many winters yet to give, or
this our last;
This, that makes the Tyrrhene billows spend
their strength against the shore.
Strain your wine and prove your wisdom; life is
short; should hope be more?
In the moment of our talking, envious time has
ebb'd away.
Seize the present; trust to-morrow e'en as little
as you may.