My translation
Mind
you don’t ask—it’s wrong to know—what end to me or you
the
gods will give, Leuconoe, nor try the horoscopes
of
Babylon. It’s better to submit to what will be,
whether
Jupiter will give more winters, or just this,
which
now wears down against the high opposing cliffs the sea
of
Tuscany. Be wise, pour out the wine, and to brief space
prune
your long hopes. While we are speaking, time flies on
with
envy: pluck the day, trust little to the time to come.
Latin text
Tu ne quaesieris, scire nefas, quem mihi, quem tibi
finem di dederint, Leuconoe, nec Babylonios
temptaris numeros. ut melius, quidquid erit, pati.
seu pluris hiemes seu tribuit Iuppiter ultimam,
quae nunc oppositis debilitat pumicibus mare
Tyrrhenum: sapias, vina liques et spatio brevi
spem longam reseces. dum loquimur, fugerit invida
aetas: carpe diem quam minimum credula postero.
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