Horace (Quintus Horatius Flaccus) - 2.2.5. lyrics

Our ancestors praised boar eaten when high: not That they lacked a sense of smell, but thinking, perhaps, That though rank it was better kept for a guest arriving Late, than eaten greedily by the host when still fresh. If only time past had reared me among such heroes! You value reputation, that fills human ears more Sweetly than song: but huge dishes of giant turbot Bring huge disgrace and loss: add to that the angry Uncle, the neighbours, your self-disgust, your vain Longing for d**h, lacking even the means to buy A rope. ‘Oh, it's fine to criticise Trausius like that,' You say, ‘but my income's vast and I've more wealth Than a clutch of kings.' Well then, isn't there something Better you can spend the surplus on? Why, when you're Rich, are there any deserving men in need? Why are The ancient temples of the gods in ruins? Why, man Without shame, don't you offer your dear country a tithe From that vast heap? You alone, is it, trouble won't touch! O how your enemies will laugh some day! In times Of uncertainty who's more confident? The man Who's accustomed a fastidious mind and body To excess, or the man content with little, wary Of what's to come, who wisely in peace prepared for war?