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Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness!
This is the state of man : to-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hope ; tomorrow blossoms,
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him ;
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost;
And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root;
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured,
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,
These many summers in a sea of glory ;
But far beyond my depth : my highblown pride
At length broke under me, and now has left me,
Weary and old with service, to the mercy
Of a rude sea that must for ever hide me.
Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye :
I feel my beart new opened. O how wretched
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours !


χαίρειν τό λοιπόν πολλά την τίμην λέγω.
ιω βρoτεία πράγματάρτι μεν βρύων
αβράν τις εξανήκεν ελπίδος φόβην,
εν τη 'πιούση δ' άνθεσιν πολυστεφής
καλόν πύκνωμ' έφυσε, φοινιχθέν γάνος
έπειτ' άγων τριταίος ολέθριον φθοράν
έσκηψε χείμων. ως δ' άρ' ευηθης δοκεί
το καλλίκαρπον δή πεπάινεσθαι κλέος,
εμάραναν άνθος: ώς δ' εγώ, διώλετο.
άσκoισι γάρ πεποιθος ως παιδών γένος
ούτως έγωγε γαίαν ούχ ευρών όμως
πολλών γε μήκει σύμμετρος θερών, κλέους
κύμεξερεύνησ, ές τάγαν όγκωμένον
υπερράγη φρόνημα, και τριφθέντα δη
πόνοις, γέροντά μ' αγρία προήχ’ αλί
ην χρή με κρύπτειν εν βύθοις ανώνυμον.
χλίδην ματαίων και κενήν ευδοξίαν
απέπτυσ'. ώς ταληθές ήδε καρδία
φρονείν μετέγνω. σε δε λέγω τρισάθλιον
όστις τυράννων χάριτος εκκρεμάννυσαι.



Thou fool, That gloriest in having power to ravish A trifle from me I am weary of! What is this life to me? not worth a thought: Or if it be esteemed, 'tis that I lose it To own a better. E'en thy malice serves To me but as a ladder to mount up To such a height of happiness where I shall Look down with scorn on thee and on the world; Where circled with true pleasures, placed above The reach of death or time, 't will be my glory To think at what an easy price I bought it.


πώς δ' ού συ μωρος, δς γε σεμνύνει, παρόν φαύλον μ' αφαιρείν κτήμα τούτ', άλλως στύγος; το ζην τι δη τοδ' ; ως παρ' ουδέν έστ' εμοι, εί μή’s τοσόνδε χρηστόν, ως χρεών έμε τούτου στερείσαν τιμιωτέραν λαβείν. τα δ' ώμά ταύθ' υβρίσματουδεν άλλο πλην πέφυκε κλιμάκτηρ τις, έμβασις ποδός, δι' ήνπερ αιώρημα κουφιώ τάχος τοσόνδ' ες ύψος, ώστε σου καταφρονείν παντών τε δη των ενθαδ: ευδαίμων δ' εκεί καρπουμένη τότ' ουδεν εξηκέσμενα, ού του θανείν έτ', ουκ επήβολος χρόνου χαίροιμ' άν οίαν ανθ' όσων έχω χάριν.



I do confess thou'rt smooth and fair,

And I might have gone near to love thee, Had I not found the slightest prayer

That lips could speak had power to move thee, But I can let thee now alone, As worthy to be loved by none.

I do confess thou’rt sweet, yet find

Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets,
Thy favours are but like the wind,

That kisses everything it meets;
And since thou can'st with more than one,
Thou'rt worthy to be kissed by none.

The morning rose, that untouched stands,

Armed with her briars, how sweet she smells ! But plucked and strained through ruder hands,

Her scent no longer in her dwells; But scent and beauty both are gone, And leaves fall from her one by one,

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