Living
Epistles 1.4 (Fairclough)
Translated by H. Rushton Fairclough (Loeb, 1926) · From Epistles, Book I (Fairclough, 1926)
Albius, impartial critic of my “chats,” what shall I say you now are doing in your country at Pedum? Writing something to outshine the pieces of Cassius of Parma? Or strolling peacefully amid the healthful woods, and musing on all that is worthy of one wise and good? Never were you a body without soul. The gods gave you beauty, the gods gave you wealth, and the art of enjoyment. For what more would a fond nurse pray for her sweet ward, if he could think aright and utter his thoughts—if favour, fame, and health fall to him richly, with a seemly living and a never failing purse?
Amid hopes and cares, amid fears and passions, believe that every day that has dawned is your last. Welcome will steal upon you the hour unhoped for. As for me, when you want a laugh, you will find me in fine fettle, fat and sleek, a hog from Epicurus’s herd.
This translation is printed as prose in its source edition.
Cite this poem
MLA
Horace (Quintus Horatius Flaccus). “Epistles 1.4 (Fairclough).” Translated by H. Rushton Fairclough. Poetry Codex, poetrycodex.com/poem/horace/325/.
Chicago
Horace (Quintus Horatius Flaccus). “Epistles 1.4 (Fairclough).” Translated by H. Rushton Fairclough. Poetry Codex. https://poetrycodex.com/poem/horace/325/.
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