Make merry, drink: the life from day to day
Account thine own, all else in fortune's power.
Honour withal the sweetest of the Gods 790
To men, the Cyprian Queen—a gracious Goddess!
These thoughts put by, and hearken to my words,
If words of wisdom unto thee they seem.
I trow it. Hence with sorrow overwrought;
Pass through yon doors and quaff the wine with me, 795
Thy brows with garlands bound. Full well I wot,
From all this lowering spirit prison-pent
Thine anchor shall Sir Beaker's plash upheave.
What, man!—the mortal must be mortal-minded.
So, for your solemn wights of knitted brows, 800
For each and all,—if thou for judge wilt take me,—
Life is not truly life, but mere affliction.
Servant.
All this we know: but now are we in plight
Not meet for laughter and for revelry.
Herakles.
The woman dead is alien-born: grieve not 805
Exceeding much. Yet live the household's lords.
Servant.
Live, quotha!—know'st thou not the house's ills?
Herakles.
Yea, if thy master lied not unto me.
Servant.
Guest-fain he is—ah, guest-fain overmuch.
