Not though with thrice a hundred oxen slain
Each day thou prayest Pluto to refrain,
The unmoved by tears, who threefold Geryon drave,
And Tityus, beneath the darkening wave.
The wave we all must one day surely sail
Who live and breathe within this mortal vale,
Whether our lot with princely rich to fare,
Whether the peasant's lowly life to share.
In vain for us from murderous Mars to flee,
In vain to shun the storms of Hadria's sea,