Horace on Archytas

“Te maris et terrae numeroque carentis arenae Mensorem cohibent, Archyta, Pulveris exiqui prope litus parva Matinum Munera, nec quidquam tibi prodest The sea, the earth, the innumerable sand, Archytas, thou coulds't measure; now, alas! A little dust on Matine shore has spann'd That soaring spirit; vain it was to pass The gates of heaven, and send thy soul in quest O'er air's wide realms; for thou hadst yet to die.”

“Even thee, thou measurer of earth and sea, thou counter of the sands, Archytas, how small a portion of earth contains thee now! It profits thee not to have searched the air and traversed the heavens since thou wert to die. So Tantalus, Tithonus, and Minos have died, and Pythagoras too with all his learning hath gone down once more to the grave. But so it is: all must die alike; some to make sport for Mars, some swallowed up in the deep: old and young go crowding to the grave: none escape: I too have perished in the waters. But grudge me not, thou mariner, a handful of earth: so may the storm spend itself on the woods while thou art safe and thy merchandize increases. Is it a small matter with thee to bring ruin on thy children? Yea, perhaps retribution awaits thyself: my curses will be heard, and then no atonement shall deliver thee. 'Tis but the work of a moment—thrice cast earth upon me and hasten on.”