Odes 3.24 (Gladstone): Intactis Opulentior

Though, richer than the wealth combined
Of Araby and teeming Ind,
With thy substructions thou o'erspread
The Tuscan sea, the Adrian bed;

If Fate her adamantine clamp
Upon thy topmost roof shall stamp
Thy mind from fear thou wilt not loose,
Thine head, from Death's unyielding noose.

Better with nomad Scythians roam,
Whose travelling cart is all their home,
Or where the ruder Getae spread
From steppes unmeasured raise their bread.

There, with a single year content,
The tiller shifts his tenement:
Another, when that labour ends,
To the self-same condition bends.

The simple step-dame there will bless
With care the children motherless:
No wife by wealth command procures,
None heeds the sleek adulterer's lures.

The best of gifts to young from old
Virtue, and chastity they hold
That fears to meet a stranger twice:
All fault is crime; and death the price.

Thou, that wouldst impious slaughter stay,
And civil frenzy's rage allay;
Wouldst 'Father of our Cities' read
Upon thy statues, dare a deed:

An heir of future fame, be bold
To curb this licence uncontrolled:
We hated Virtue which we knew,
But laud it when removed from view.

Unless the scourge o'ertake the fault,
Our sorry whinings limp and halt;
And laws are vain when morals err.
Do they from torrid tracts deter

Or lands, where Boreas takes his birth,
And frozen snows congeal the earth?
O'er all, their course our merchants urge,
And shipmen's art defies the surge.

All things, but shame, we can endure,
And one shame only, to be poor:
We dare, we suffer day by day,
But flinch from Virtue's arduous way.

Quick, to the Capitolian height,
As shouts and favouring crowds invite;
Or, if indeed our crimes we mourn,
The nearest sea will serve the turn.

Quick, thither send our woes untold,
Jewels, and gems, and poisoned gold:
Then, for we somewhat still require,
Root out the seeds of ill desire.

Train we these minds effeminate
With thoughts and ways of manlier state.
Our highborn youth nor hunts, nor rides;
He cannot clip the horse's sides;

More apt the Grecian hoop to guide,
Or cast the die, our laws denied:
The while his father, rogue confessed,
Swindling his comrade, or his guest,

Heaps worthless wealth for worthless child.
Yes. Guilty gold is piled, and piled.
And yet the growing filthy stuff,
I know not how, is ne'er enough.