Читать книгу Yale Classics (Vol. 2) - Луций Анней Сенека - Страница 132
LXXVI.
ОглавлениеIf to a man bring joy past service dearly remember'd,
When to the soul her thought speaks, to be blameless of ill;
Faith not rudely profan'd, nor in oath or charter abused
Heaven, a God's mis-sworn sanctity, deadly to men.
Then doth a life-long pleasure await thee surely, Catullus,
Pleasure of all this love's traitorous injury born.
Whatso a man may speak, whom charity leads to another,
Whatso enact, by me spoken or acted is all.
Waste on a traitorous heart, nor finding kindly requital.
Therefore cease, nor still bleed agoniz'd any more.
Make thee as iron a soul, thyself draw back from affliction.
Yea, tho' a God say nay, be not unhappy for aye.
What? it is hard long love so lightly to leave in a moment?
Hard; yet abides this one duty, to do it: obey.
Here lies safety alone, one victory must not fail thee.
One last stake to be lost haply, perhaps to be won.
O great Gods immortal, if you can pity or ever
Lighted above dark death's shadow, a help to the lost;
Ah! look, a wretch, on me; if white and blameless in all I
Liv'd, then take this long canker of anguish away.
If to my inmost veins, like dull death drowsily creeping,
Every delight, all heart's pleasure it wholly benumbs.
Not anymore I pray for a love so faulty returning,
Not that a wanton abide chastely, she may not again.
Only for health I ask, a disease so deadly to banish.
Gods vouchsafe it, as I ask, that am harmless of ill.
