Don't ask what end the gods will grant to me or you, Leuconoe.
Don't play with Babylonian fortune-telling either.
It is better to endure whatever will be.
Whether Jupiter has allotted to you many more winters or this final one
which even now wears out the Tyrrhenian sea on the rocks placed opposite
— be wise, strain the wine, and scale back your long hopes
to a short period. While we speak, envious time will have {already} fled.
Seize the day, trusting as little as possible in the next.
