lenta bibis: mediae nequeunt te frangere noctes? an nondumst talos mittere lassa manus? ah pereat, quicumque meracas repperit uvas corrupitque bonas nectare primus aquas! Icare, Cecropiis merito iugulate colonis, pampineus nosti quam sit amarus odor! tuque o Eurytion vino Centaure peristi, nec non Ismario tu, Polypheme, mero.
You drink unmoved: can midnight not wear you down? Is your hand not yet tired of throwing the dice? Perish the man who discovered the heady grape and spoilt good water by mixing it with wine! The farmers of Athens had good cause to slay you, Icarus: you have learned how bitter is the scent of the vine. You, too, centaur Eurytion, were undone by wine and you, too, Polyphemus, by liquor of Ismarus.
final_alignments\Propertius_Elegies_Book2.json