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Res humanae in summo, declinant.

At their height, human affairs decline

In medio librat Phoebus dum lumina caelo,
Dissolvit radiis, quae cecidere nives.
Cm res humanae in summo stant, saep liquescunt:
Et nihil aeternum, quod rapit atra dies.
Nil iuvat ingentes habitare palatia Reges,
Conditio miseros haec eademque manet.
Mors aequat cunctos, opibus nec parcit in horam,
Verbaque dum volitant, ocyus illa venit.
Heu, leviter ventus pellit nos omnis inermes,
Concidimus citis qum levat aura rosas.

While Phoebus suspends his light in the middle of the heavens, he dissolves with his rays the snows that have fallen. When human affairs are at their height, they often melt away, and nothing is eternal that the black day bears away. It does not help great kings to live in palaces, this same fate awaits them in their misery. Death makes all equal, and does not spare wealth for an hour; while words are flying, she comes even more quickly. Alas, every wind easily drives us along, defenceless as we are; we fall more quickly than the breeze removes the roses.



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