ON THE WORLD\'S CHAOS AND CONFUSION (excerpt)

Happy the man who never places
his small and humble fantasy
in anything greater than simply leading
his cattle to drink from the cold spring
and drawing their milk so that he can drink!
However Fortune may stir things up,
he’ll never feel any greater grief
than the weight of knowing his life is brief.

He’ll see the rising sun’s red face
and see the clear spring always flowing,
not wondering where the water comes from
nor who on the horizon hides the light.
Playing the flute where his cattle graze,
he’ll know the grass that covers the hill;
in God he’ll simply and calmly believe,
not pondering truths he can’t conceive.

Among the things of Antiquity,
it’s written of a certain Thrasyllus
that, due to a grave infirmity,
he lost his senses for a long season,
during which time, bereft of reason,
he claimed and believed that all the ships
which at the port of Piraeus landed
were ships he owned if not commanded.

He took himself for a mighty lord
and enjoyed as well a happy life,
since he lost nothing when ships were lost,
and rejoiced for those that landed safely.
Time went by till one day Crito
his brother returned after a long absence
and, seeing how Thrasyllus had lost his wits,
was moved by fraternal love to pity.

He gave him to doctors, charging them
to perform the cure thus far refused.
Alas! By restoring his brother’s senses,
he robbed him of his sweet easy life!
The herbs of Apollo, without delay,
gave him back his former health.
Now of sound mind, Thrasyllus thanked
his brother for caring, not for his act.

For when he saw himself in danger
of the toils that sanity would impose
and saw no more that state of privilege
conferred on him by his fantasy,
he sighed: “O enemy brother, pretended
friend, why did you take from me
that life so calm and free of pains,
which can’t be had by anyone sane?

“What king, or duke or mighty lord
would I have wished to trade places with?
What did I care if the world ended
or if Nature’s order suddenly changed?
Now dear life is a heavy burden,
for I know what toil and sadness are.
Restore me to that state of bliss;
the only sane condition is madness.”

SOBRE O DESCONCERTO DO MUNDO (excerpt)

SOBRE O DESCONCERTO DO MUNDO (excerpt)

Quem tão baixa tivesse a fantasia
que nunca em mores cousas a metesse
que em só levar seu gado à fonte fria
e mungir-lhe o leite que bebesse!
Quão bem-aventurado que seria!
Que, por mais que Fortuna revolvesse,
nunca em si sentiria maior pena
que pesar-lhe da vida ser pequena.

Veria erguer do sol a roxa face,
veria correr sempre a clara fonte,
sem imaginar a água donde nace,
nem quem a luz esconde no horizonte.
Tangendo a frauta donde o gado pace,
conheceria as ervas do alto monte;
em Deus creria, simples e quieto,
sem mais especular nenhum secreto.

De um certo Trasilau se lê e escreve,
entre as cousas da velha antiguidade,
que perdido um grão tempo o siso teve
por causa dũa grande infirmidade;
e enquanto, de si fora, doudo esteve,
tinha por teima e cria por verdade,
que eram suas as naus que navegavam,
quantas no porto Píreo ancoravam.

Por um senhor mui grande se teria
(além da vida alegre que passava),
pois nas que se perdiam não perdia,
e das que vinham salvas se alegrava.
Não tardou muito tempo quando, um dia,
um Crito, seu irmão, que ausente estava,
à terra chega; e vendo o irmão perdido,
do fraternal amor foi comovido.

Aos médicos o entrega, e com aviso
o faz estar à cura refusada.
Triste, que por tornar-lhe o caro siso
lhe tira a doce vida descansada!
As ervas Apolíneas, de improviso,
o tornam à saúde atrás passada.
Sesudo, Trasilau ao caro irmão
agradece a vontade, a obra não.

Porque, despois de ver-se no perigo
dos trabalhos que o siso lhe obrigava,
e despois de não ver o estado antigo
que a vã opinião lhe apresentava,
—Ó inimigo irmão, com cor d’amigo!
Para que me tiraste (suspirava)
da mais quieta vida e livre em tudo
que nunca pôde ter nenhum sesudo?

Por que rei, por que duque me trocara?
Por que senhor de grande fortaleza?
Que me dava que o mundo se acabara,
ou que a ordem mudasse a natureza?
Agora é-me pesada a vida cara;
sei que cousa é trabalho e que tristeza.
Torna-me a meu estado, que eu te aviso
que na doudice só consiste o siso.