XI. You better sure shall live, not evermore

Sir Philip Sidney (1554–1586)

Translated from HORACE, which begins Rectius vives

YOU better sure shall live, not evermore

Trying high seas; nor while seas rage, you flee,

Pressing too much upon ill harboured shore.

The golden mean who loves, lives safely free

From filth of foresworn house; and quiet lives,

Released from Court, where envy needs must be.

The winds most oft the hugest pine tree grieves;

The stately towers come down with greater fall;

The highest hills, the bolt of thunder cleaves.

Evil haps do fill with hope; good haps appal

With fear of change, the courage well prepared:

Foul winters, as they come; away, they shall!

Though present times and past with evils be snared,

They shall not last: with cithern, silent Muse,

APOLLO wakes; and bow, hath sometimes spared.

In hard estate; with stout show, valour use!

The same man still, in whom wise doom prevails,

In too full wind, draw in thy swelling sails!