Classic Poem

Horace: Ode: 7: Lib: 4

Snowes now are fled, and fields are deckt with flowers,
With new leaves the naked bowers:
The time o'th'yeare is chang'd, and flouds that were.
Now againe but Riv'letts are.
The Nymphs and Graces nak'd their daunces lead
Through each pleasant flowry mead.
The yeare would teach by's mutability
Not t'hope for their lifes immortality

The Springs compagnion Zephirus doth charme
The winters cold, and now'ts warme.
The Summer's next, whose heat consumes the pride,
And glory of the Spring-tide.
Next followes Autumne loaden with rich wines,
Corne, and fruit of divers kindes.
Then clumsy Winter comes, who wrags up all
Those beauteous mixtures in a frozen ball.

Time in a swift course wastes, and after waine
Phaebe renews her light againe.
But if our light goe out, we shine no more,
No borrow'd Sunshine can our Life restore.

'S Æneas dead? could not his Piety
Sheild him gainst mortality?
Tellus and Ancus too? Could they not buy
For wealth Eternity?
Noe, we are all like shadowes; sprung from dust,
And to dust returne we must.
Who knowes to day, whither his life shall be
Prolong'd till 'morrow by the Gods decree?

Be therefore libêrall whilst thou mayest, and give
Thy self thine whilst thou do'st live.
For bêing once dead, and Minoes sentence past
On thee, th'art for ever fast.
Nor cann thy nobleness of blood reprive
Thee againe not long to live.
Nor (though thy beauty rare) cann it prevaile
Nor piety when death doth thee assaile.

For neither could Diana's power deny
Her chaste Hyppolitus to dye:
Not yet could Theseus loose Perithoes bands,
Allthough in freindshipp linkt; Deaths sentence stands.