I, miser, inque tuas rape non tua tempora curas: Et nondum natis perge perire malis. Mi querulis satis una dies, satis angitur horis: Una dies lacrymis mi satis uda suis. Non mihi venturos vacat expectare dolores: Nolo ego, nolo hodie crastinus esse miser.
Go, wretched mortal, antedate the day, Fill thee with care; Work thyself mis'ries, in a perverse way, Before they're there. Enough for me the day's cares in the day, The passing hour; Enough the tears that daily, yea or nay, In sorrow low'r. I have no leisure thus to antedate The coming woe, Nor to-day darken with to-morrow's fate; And so I go. G.
Wretch, to thy woes add not to-morrow morn; And haste not thou to groan with ills unborn. Each day's laments, each hour's griefs, me suffice; Each morn, noon, eve, with rueful weeping eyes. No leisure is to look for griefs to be: Stir not to-day to-morrow's pains in me. A.
Ah satis, ah nimis est: noli ultra ferre magistrum, Et lucro domino turpia colla dare. Jam fuge; jam, Matthaee, feri fuge regna tyranni: Inque bonam, felix i fugitive,[48] crucem.
_Matthew called from the receipt of custom._
Enough, too much; no more a master's yoke Endure, nor bow to lordly Lucre's stroke: His service from thy slavish neck is broke.
Flee, Matthew, flee the cruel tyrant's sway, And hie thee, like a happy runaway, To the sweet cross that waits for thee to-day. R. WI.
_Viduae filius e feretro matri redditur._ Luc. vii. 15.
En redeunt, lacrymasque breves nova gaudia pensant; Bisque illa est, uno in pignore, facta parens. Felix quae magis es nati per funera mater: Amisisse, iterum cui peperisse fuit.
_The dead son re-delivered to his mother._
Sweet restoration! by new joys outweigh'd, Brief sorrow is exil'd, And the lorn widow is a mother made Twice in her only child.
O happy mother! then a mother most When all her hopes seem'd vain: Happy, who wept beside a dear son lost, And found him born again. CL.
_Bonum intrare in coelos cum uno oculo, &c._ Matt. xviii. 9.
Uno oculo? ah centum potius mihi, millia centum: Nam quis ibi, in coelo, quis satis Argus erit? Aut si oculus mihi tantum unus conceditur, unus Iste oculus fiam totus et omnis ego.
_It is better to go into heaven with one eye, &c._
One eye? a thousand rather, and a thousand more, To fix those full-fac't glories. O, he's poore Of eyes that has but Argus' store! Yet, if thou'lt fill one poore eye with Thy Heaven and Thee, O grant, sweet Goodnesse, that one eye may be All and every whit of me. CR.