Who can tread ambition down,

Nor be sway'd by smile or frown;

Nor for all the treasure cares,

That mine conceals, or harvest wears,

Or that golden sands deliver,

Bosom'd in a glassy river.

What shall move his placid might?

Not the headlong thunderlight,

Quem non ambitio impotens,
Et nunquam stabilis favor

Vulgi præcipitis movet.

Non quidquid fodit occidens;

Aut unda Tagus aurea

Claro devehit alveo;

Non quidquid Libycis terit

Fervens area messibus.

Quem non concutiet cadens

Obliqui via fulminis,

Nor the storm that rushes out

To snatch the shivering waves about,
Nor all the shapes of slaughter's trade
With forward lance or fiery blade.
Safe with wisdom for his crown,
He looks on all things calmly down;
He welcomes fate, when fate is near,
Nor taints his dying breath with fear.
Grant that all the kings assemble,

At whose tread the Scythians tremble,

Non Eurus rapiens mare,

Aut sævo rabidus freto

Ventosi tumor Adriæ;

Quem non lancea militis,

Non strictus domuit chalybs;

Qui tuto positus loco,

Infra se vidit omnia;

Occurritque suo libens

Fato, nec queritur mori.

Reges conveniant licet,

Qui sparsos agitant Dahas,

Grant that in the train be they,

Whom the Red-Sea shores obey, Where the gems and chrystal caves Sparkle up through purple waves; Bring with these the Caspian stout, Who scorns to shut th' invader out, And the daring race that tread

The rocking of the Danube's bed, With those again, where'er they be, Who, lapp'd in silken luxury,

Qui rubri vada litoris,
Et gemmis mare lucidum

Late sanguineum tenent;
Aut qui Caspia fortibus
Recludunt juga Sarmatis;
Certet, Danubii vadum
Audet qui pedes ingredi;
Et quocunque loco jacent

Feed, to the full, their lordly will;-. The noble mind is monarch still..

No need has he of vulgar force,
Armour, or arms, or chested horse,
Nor all the idle darts that light
From Parthian in his feigned flight,
Nor whirling rocks from engines thrown,
That come to shake old cities down.

Seres vellere nobiles ;

Mens regnum bona possidet.

Nil ullis opus est equis,

Nil armis, et inertibus

Telis, quæ procul ingerit
Parthus, cum simulat fugas;

Admotis nihil est opus

Urbes sternere machinis

Longe saxa rotantibus.

No to fear not earthly thing, This it is that makes the king;

And all of us, whoe'er we be,

May carve us out this royalty.

Rex est, qui metuit nihil;

Hoc regnum sibi quisque dat