Abiturus illuc quo priores abierunt, quid mente caeca miserum torques spiritum? tibi dico, avare, gaudium heredis tui, qui ture superos, ipsum te fraudas cibo, qui tristis audis musicum citharae sonum, quem tibiarum macerat iucunditas, obsoniorum pretia cui gemitum exprimunt, qui dum quadrantes aggeras patrimonio caelum fatigas sordido periurio, qui circumcidis omnem inpensam funeris, Libitina ne quid de tuo faciat lucri.
Since you are destined to go to that place where others before you have gone, why in blind folly make your life miserable with self-torment? To you I speak, miser, you who are the joy of your heir, you who rob the gods of their incense and yourself of food, who listen in deep gloom to the music of the lyre, who are pained by the jolly sound of the flute, from whom the price of provisions extorts a groan, who, while trying to add a few pennies to your estate, weary heaven with your vile perjuries, you who are trimming down every expense allowed for your funeral, lest the undertakers should make any profit from your estate.
final_alignments\Phaedrus_Fables_Book4.json