If men not only were to feel this load That weighs upon their mind and wears them out, But might have knowledge also of its cause And whence comes this great pile of misery Crushing their breasts, they would not spend their lives, As now so oft we see them, ignorant Each of his life’s true ends, and seeking ever By change of place to lay his burden down. Often, issuing forth from his great mansion, he Who is weary of home will suddenly return Perceiving that abroad he is none the happier. He posts to his villa galloping his ponies, As though hurrying with help to a house on fire, Yawns on the very threshold, nay sinks down Heavily into sleep to seek oblivion, Or even perhaps starts headlong back to town. In this way each man flies from his own self, Yet from that self in fact he has no power To escape. He clings to it in his own despite, Although he loathes it, seeing that he is sick, Yet perceives not the cause of his disease: Which if he could but comprehend aright, Relinquishing all else, each man would study To learn the Nature of Reality, Since ’tis our state during eternal time, Not for one hour merely, that is in doubt, That state wherein mortals must pass the whole Of what may still await them after death. And in conclusion, what base lust of life Is this, that can so potently compel us In dubious perils to feel such dismay? For indeed certain is the end of life That awaits mortals, nor can death be shunned. Meet it we must. Furthermore in the same Pursuits and actions do we pass our days For ever, nor may we by living on Forge for ourselves any new form of pleasure. But what we crave, while it is absent, seems To excel all things else; then, when ’tis ours, We crave some other thing, gaping wide-mouthed, Always possessed by the same thirst of life. What fortune future time may bring, we know not, Nor what chance has in store for us, nor yet What end awaits us. By prolonging life No least jot may we take from death’s duration; Nought may we steal away therefrom, that so Haply a less long while we may be dead. Therefore as many ages as you please Add to your life’s account, yet none the less Will that eternal death be waiting for you. And not less long will that man be no more, Who from to-day has ceased to live, than he Who has died many months and years ago. BOOK IV, lines 962-1287