Odes 3.19 (Martin): Quantum Distat

How long after Inachus, Codrus bore sway there
In Greece, for whose sake he so gallantly fell,
Every scion of Aeacus' race, every fray there
Beneath holy Troy's leaguer 'cl walls you can tell.

But the price one may purchase choice old Chian wine at,
Or who has good baths, that you never have told,
Nor where we shall find pleasant chambers to dine at,
And when be secure from Pelignian cold.

To the new moon a cup, boy, to midnight another,
And quickly, — to augur Muraena a third!
To each bowl give three measures, or nine, — one or t' other
"Will do, less or more would be wrong and absurd!

The bard, who is vow'd to the odd-numbered Muses,
For bumpers thrice three in his transport will call;
But the Grace with her loose-kirtled sisters refuses
To grant more than three in her horror of brawl.

For me, I delight to go mad for a season!
Why ceases the shrill Berecynthian flute
To pour its bewailings? And what is the reason,
The lyre and the flageolet yonder hang mute?

I hate niggard hands; then strew freely the roses!
Let envious Lycus there hear the mad din,
And she, our fair neighbour, who with him reposes;
That she with old Lycus should live is a sin.

Thee, Telephus, thee, with thy thick-flowing tresses
All radiant as Hesper at fall of the day,
Sweet Rhode is longing to load with caresses,
Whilst I waste for Glycera slowly away!