Nor let my tongue offend; but in my heart
Be lowly wisdom graven.
ANTISTROPHE I.
For thus old Wisdom speaks:
Thy life ’tis sweet to cherish, and while the length
Of years is thine, thy heart with cheerful hopes
And lightsome joys to feed.
But thee—ah me! my blood runs cold to see thee,
Pierced to the marrow with a thousand pains.
Not fearing Jove,