Saturday, November 22, 2008
Seize the Day, Don't Fash Your Thumb
Ne'er fash your thumb what gods decreeae: one, a single
To be the weird o' you or me,
Nor deal in cantrip's kittle cunning
To speir how fast your days are running;
But patient lippen for the best,
Nor be in dowie thought opprest.
Whether we see mair winter's come,
Than this that spits wi' canker'd foam.
Now moisten weel your geyzen'd wa's
Wi' couthy friends and hearty blaws;
Ne'er let your hope o'ergang your days,
For eild and thraldom never stays;
The day looks gash, toot aff your horn,
Nor care ae strae about the morn.
blaws: blows (back-slappings?)
canker'd: gusty, stormy
couthy: agreeable, sociable
dowie: sad, melancholy
eild: age, time of life
fash: trouble, bother, fret (fash your thumb = care a rap)
gash: pale, dismal
geyzen'd: dried out
lippen: trust, have confidence
wa's: ? The context requires something like weasand (Scots weason) = throat, but the only definitions I can find for wa's are walls and ways, from which I can extract no satisfactory sense. Or could it be waes = woes?
weird: fate, destiny
Roger Kuin writes about wa's:
The 'walls' don't bother me: I imagined instantly some dried-out walls of a wattle-and-daub Scots bothie badly in need of moistening by the body heat and the libations of a cheerful party with many wee drams -- some of them thrown at the walls, just out of high spirits (so to speak).
Here is a literal prose translation of Horace's Ode, followed by the Latin original:
Don't askit's forbidden to knowwhat final fate the gods have given to me and you, Leuconoe, and don't consult Babylonian horoscopes. How much better it is to accept whatever shall be, whether Jupiter has given many more winters or whether this is the last one, which now breaks the force of the Tuscan sea against the facing cliffs. Be wise, strain the wine, and trim distant hope within short limits. While we're talking, grudging time will already have fled: seize the day, trusting as little as possible in tomorrow.
Tu ne quaesieris, scire nefas, quem mihi, quem tibi
finem di dederint, Leuconoe, nec Babylonios
temptaris numeros. ut melius, quicquid erit, pati,
seu pluris hiemes seu tribuit Iuppiter ultimam,
quae nunc oppositis debilitat pumicibus mare
Tyrrhenum: sapias, vina liques, et spatio brevi
spem longam reseces. dum loquimur, fugerit invida
aetas: carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero.