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Within the mighty Neptune's fane,
Who snatch'd me, dripping, from the main.
Vestimenta maris déo.
SENECA'S TRAGEDY OF THYESTES.
'Tis not wealth that makes a king,
Nor the purple's colouring,
Nor a brow that's bound with gold,
Nor gates on mighty hinges rolled.
The king is he, who void of fear,
Looks abroad with bosom clear;
Regem non faciunt opes,
Non vestis Tyriæ color,
Non frontis nota regiæ,
Rex est, qui posuit metus,
Et diri mala pectoris ;
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
Nor the storm that rushes out
To snatch the shivering waves about,
Nor all the shapes of slaughter's trade
With forward lancé 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,
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,
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