The First Book of the Odes of Horace.
Ode iii. To the Ship, in Which Virgil Was About to Sail to Athens.
Ode xvi. To a Young Lady Horace Had Offended.
Ode xxxiii. To Albius Tibullus.
Ode xxxiv. Against the Epicurians.
Ode xxxvii. To His Companions.
The Second Book of the Odes of Horace.
Ode ii. To Crispus Sallustius.
Ode xv. Against the Luxury of the Romans.
Ode xviii. Against Avarice and Luxury.
A Dithyrambic, or Drinking Song.
The Third Book of the Odes of Horace.
Ode ii. Against the Degeneracy of the Roman Youth.
Ode iii. On Steadiness and Integrity.
Ode v. On the Recovery of the Standards From Phraates.
Ode xiii. To the Bandusian Fountain.
Ode xxvii. To Galatea, Upon Her Going to Sea.
The Fourth Book of the Odes of Horace.
Ode viii. To Marcius Censorinus.
Ode xv. To Augustus, on the Restoration of Peace.
The Book of the Epodes of Horace.
Ode ii. The Praises of a Country Life.
Ode v. The Witches Mangling a Boy.
Ode vi. Against Cassius Severus.
Ode viii. Upon a Wanton Old Woman.
Ode xii. To a Woman Whose Charms Were Over.
Dialogue Between Horace and Canidia.
The Secular Poem of Horace. To Apollo and Diana.
The First Book of the Satires of Horace.
Satire i. That all, but especially the covetous, think their own condition the hardest.
Satire ii. Bad men, when they avoid certain vices, fall into their opposite extremes.
Satire v. He describes a certain journey of his from Rome to Brundusium with great pleasantry.
Satire vii. He humorously describes a squabble betwixt Rupilius and Persius.
Satire ix. He describes his sufferings from the loquacity of an impertinent fellow.
The Second Book of the Satires of Horace.
Satire viii. A smart description of a miser ridiculously acting the extravagant.
The First Book of the Epistles of Horace.
Epistle v. To Torquatus. He invites him to a frugal entertainment, but a cleanly and cheerful one.
Epistle vi. To Numicius. That a wise man is in love with nothing but virtue.
Epistle ix. To Claudius Tiberius Nero. He recommends Septimius to him.
The Second Book of the Epistles of Horace.
Horace's Book Upon the Art of Poetry. To the Pisos.
O Maecenas, thou progeny of Tuscan kings, there has been a long while for you in my house some mellow wine in an unbroached hogshead, with rose-flowers and expressed essence for your hair. Disengage yourself from anything that may retard you, nor contemplate the ever marshy Tibur, and the sloping fields of Aesula, and the hills of Telegonus the parricide. Leave abundance, which is the source of daintiness, and yon pile of buildings approaching near the lofty clouds: cease to admire the smoke, and opulence, and noise of flourishing Rome. A change is frequently agreeable to the rich, and a cleanly meal in the little cottage of the poor has smoothed an anxious brow without carpets or purple. Now the bright father of Andromeda displays his hidden fire; now Procyon rages, and the constellation of the ravening Lion, as the sun brings round the thirsty season. Now the weary shepherd with his languid flock seeks the shade, and the river, and the thickets of rough Sylvanus; and the silent bank is free from the wandering winds. You regard what constitution may suit the state, and are in an anxious dread for Rome, what preparations the Seres and the Bactrians subject to Cyrus, and the factious Tanais are making. A wise deity shrouds in obscure darkness the events of the time to come, and smiles if a mortal is solicitous beyond the law of nature. Be mindful to manage duly that which is present. What remains goes on in the manner of the river, at one time calmly gliding in the middle of its channel to the Tuscan Sea, at another, rolling along corroded stones, and stumps of trees, forced away, and cattle, and houses, not without the noise of mountains and neighboring woods, when the merciless deluge enrages the peaceful waters. That man is master of himself and shall live happy, who has it in his power to say, "I have lived today: tomorrow let the Sire invest the heaven, either with a black cloud, or with clear sunshine; nevertheless, he shall not render ineffectual what is past, nor undo or annihilate what the fleeting hour has once carried off. Fortune, happy in the execution of her cruel office, and persisting to play her insolent game, changes uncertain honors, indulgent now to me, by and by to another. I praise her, while she abides by me. If she moves her fleet wings, I resign what she has bestowed, and wrap myself up in my virtue, and court honest poverty without a portion. It is no business of mine, if the mast groan with the African storms, to have recourse to piteous prayers, and to make a bargain with my vows, that my Cyprian and Syrian merchandize may not add to the wealth of the insatiable sea. Then the gale and the twin Pollux will carry me safe in the protection of a skiff with two oars, through the tumultuous Aegean Sea."