Seek not, Leuconoee, to know how long you’re going to live yet,
What boons the gods will yet withhold, or what they’re going to give yet;
For Jupiter will have his way, despite how much we worry,–
Some will hang on for many a day, and some die in a hurry.
The wisest thing for you to do is to embark this diem
Upon a merry escapade with some such bard as I am.
And while we sport I’ll reel you off such odes as shall surprise ye;
To-morrow, when the headache comes,–well, then I’ll satirize ye!
To Leuconoee
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