I do not care about the gold of Gyges
the Sardian king,
nor does any envy seize me,
nor am I jealous of tyrants.
But I do care 5
to drench my beard with myrrh,
and I do care
to wreathe my head with roses.
Today is what I care about —
who knows what comes tomorrow? 10
So now, while it is still good weather,
drink up, toss the dice,
and pour out an offering to Lyaios,
in case some disaster should arrive
and allow you to drink no more. 15
οὔ μοι μέλει τὰ Γύγεω,
τοῦ Σάρδεων ἄνακτος·
οὐδ᾿ εἷλέ πώ με ζῆλος,
οὐδὲ φθονῶ τυράννοις.
ἐμοὶ μέλει μύροισιν 5
καταβρέχειν ὑπήνην,
ἐμοὶ μέλει ῥόδοισιν
καταστέφειν κάρηνα·
τὸ σήμερον μέλει μοι,
τὸ δ᾿ αὔριον τίς οἶδεν; 10
ὡς οὖν ἔτ᾿ εὔδι᾿ ἔστιν,
καὶ πῖνε καὶ κύβευε
καὶ σπένδε τῷ Λυαίῳ,
μὴ νοῦσος, ἤν τις ἔλθῃ,
λέγῃ, 'σὲ μὴ δεῖ πίνειν.' 15
"A peculiar anthologic maze, an amusing literary chaos, a farrago of quotations, a mere olla podrida of quaintness, a pot pourri of pleasant delites, a florilegium of elegant extracts, a tangled fardel of old-world flowers of thought, a faggot of odd fancies, quips, facetiae, loosely tied" (Holbrook Jackson, Anatomy of Bibliomania) by a "laudator temporis acti," a "praiser of time past" (Horace, Ars Poetica 173).
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Sunday, December 20, 2015
What I Care About
Anacreontea 8 (tr. Patricia A. Rosenmeyer):