This time an Ancient one by the Roman poet Horace.
Leuconoe, don't ask — it's dangerous to know —
what end the gods will give me or you. Don't play with Babylonian
fortune-telling either. Better just deal with whatever comes your way.
Whether you'll see several more winters or whether the last one
Jupiter gives you is the one even now pelting the rocks on the shore with the waves
of the Tyrrhenian sea — be smart, drink your wine. Scale back your long hopes
to a short period. Even as we speak, envious time
is running away from us. Seize the day, trusting little in the future.
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