spes alit agricolas, spes sulcis credit aratis semina quae magno faenore reddat ager; haec laqueo volucres, haec captat harundine pisces, cum tenues hamos abdidit ante cibus; spes etiam valida solatur compede vinctum: crura sonant ferro, sed canit inter opus; spes facilem Nemesim spondet mihi, sed negat illa.
Tis Hope sustains the farmer; to ploughed furrows Hope entrusts the seed for fields to render back with heavy usury. She takes the fowl in noose, the fish with rod, the slender hook first hidden by the bait. Hope comforts, too, the slave whom stout fetters bind. The iron clanks upon his legs, but still he sings at his task. Hope promises me that Nemesis shall be kind; but she says Nay.
final_alignments\Tibullus_Elegies.json