POEM: TRANSLATION
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From Horace, Book II. Ode X., beginning "Rectius v<bdo></bdo>ives, Lii," &c.You better sure shall live, <bdo>..</bdo>not evermore Trying high seas; nor, while seas rage you flee, Pressing too much upon ill-harboured shore.
The golden m<var></var>ean who loves, lives safely free From filth of foreworn house, and quiet lives, Released from court, where envy needs must be.
The wind most oft the hugest piree grieves: The stately towers e down with greater fall: The highest hills the bolt of thunder cleaves.
Evil haps do fill with hope, good haps appall With fear of ge, the ce well prepared: Foul winters, as they e, away they shall.
Though present times, and past, with evils be shey shall not last: with cithern silent Muse, Apollo wakes, and bow hath sometime spared.
In hard.e, with stout shows, valour use, The same man still, in whom wisdom prevails; In too full wind draw in thy swelling sails.
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