Odi profanum vulgus
I hate the profane mob and keep them at a distance.
Maintain a holy silence. As priest of the Muses
I sing for girls and boys
songs never heard before.
Dread kings hold sway over their flocks;
over kings rules Jupiter,
resplendent in triumph over the Giants,
moving all things with his eyebrow.
One man trenches broader acres for his vines
than his neighbour, one candidate going down to the Campus
|is more nobly born, another competes||11|
another has a larger retinue of clients--
Necessity with her impartial law picks out by lot
both high and humble.
All names are shaken in that capacious urn.
If the naked sword hangs over your impious neck,
Sicilian banquets will not contrive
a sweet savour for you.
|Neither the song of birds nor the lyre||20|
will bring you sleep. But soothing sleep does not despise
the humble homes of country people,
the shady river bank, or Tempe's wooded valley
stirred by western breezes.
The man who wants enough and no more
is not disturbed by stormy seas or the fierce onset
of the Bearkeeper falling
or the rising Kid,