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Consolation of Philosophy

Boethius, tr. “I.T.”, rev. Stewart, 1918

Book 3, 5. Poem 5

Who would be powerful, must
His own affections check,
Nor let foul reins of lust
Subdue his conquered neck.
For though the Indian land
Should tremble at thy beck,
And though thy dread command
Far Thule’s isle obey,
Unless thou canst withstand
And boldly drive away
Black care and wretched moan,
Thy might is small or none.