Look, lad. Deep-thundering Zeus controls the end
Of everything, and works it as he will.
Men have no cognizance, but live as pastured
Cattle beholden to the flight of days,
Not knowing to what end the god will bring
All things, and all of us. Yet we all live
On nourishment of hope and confidence,
Reaching for what is out of reach. Some wait for
The next day, some the turning of next season;
No mortal thinks he will not reach next year
As Lord Wealth's protegé and healthy friend.
But old age comes upon a man before
He makes his goal, while some grotesque disease
Devours another. Others slay each other
On Ares' bleeding fields and are taken down
By Hades underneath the dark of earth,
And some die out at sea blasted by storm
And the endless harrowing salt waves of the deep,
When they can't make a living on dry land,
And there are those who fasten their own grim noose
And leave the light of day and life by choice.
So everything has its own special harm.
Countless Daemons of doom, disasters and dangers
We can't foresee exist to blindside mortals.
So here is my advice: don't cling to hope
For good that brings but grief, nor torture yourself
By dwelling on heart-battering regret.