At vos incertam, mortales, funeris horam quaeritis, et qua sit mors aditura via; quaeritis et caelo, Phoenicum inventa, sereno, quae sit stella homini commoda quaeque mala! seu pedibus Parthos sequimur seu classe Britannos, et maris et terrae caeca pericla latent; rursus et obiectum fles tu caput esse tumultu, cum Mavors dubias miscet utrimque manus; praeterea domibus flammam metuisque ruinas, neu subeant labris pocula nigra tuis.
You still seek, mortals, the uncertain hour of your fate and wonder by what route death will come; and in a cloud-free sky you seek the Phoenicians discoveries, what star is good for man, what star is ill. Whether we advance on foot against the Parthians or by ship against the Britons, unseen perils lurk on both land and sea. And again you lament that your life is menaced by civil war, when Mars brings battle-lines together with no sure victor on either side; you further worry that your house may burn or collapse, or that a poisonous draught may touch your lips.
final_alignments\Propertius_Elegies_Book2.json