Horace (Quintus Horatius Flaccus) - 2.7.1. lyrics

‘I've listened a while and wanted to say a few words But being a slave daren't.' Are you Davus? Yes, Davus, A servant fond of his master, quite virtuous, but not Enough so to die young.' Come on, then, use the freedom December allows, since our ancestors wished it: speak! ‘Some men love vice, yet follow a constant purpose: The majority waver, sometimes grasping what's right, At another time slaves to evil. Priscus, often Noted for wearing three rings on his left hand, then none, Lived so capriciously, he'd change his tunic each hour, Leaving a great house he'd suddenly enter some dive From which a plain freedman couldn't emerge without shame: Now he'd choose to live as a lecher in Rome, now a scholar In Athens, born when fluid Vertumnus was changing form. When the gout he deserved crippled Volanerius' Finger-joints, that joker hired a man by the day To pick up the dice, and rattle them in the cup: Because he stuck to one vice, he was less unhappy And preferable to one who at one moment handles A rope that is taut, the next moment one that's slack.'