And fetch’d a deep foreboding sigh, and said: “Take this at least, this last advice, my son: Keep a stiff rein, and move but gently on: The coursers of themselves will run too fast; Your art must be to moderate their haste. Drive them not on directly through the skies, But where the zodiac’s winding circle lies, Along the midmost zone; but sally forth, Nor to the distant south, nor stormy north. The horses’ hoofs a beaten track will show; But neither mount too high, nor sink too low. That no new fires or heaven or earth infest, Keep the mid way: the middle way is best: Nor where, in radiant folds, the serpent twines, Direct your course; nor where the altar shines: Shun both extremes; the rest let Fortune guide, And better for thee than thyself provide! See, while I speak, the shades disperse away, Aurora gives the promise of a day; I’m call’d, nor can I make a longer stay. Snatch up the reins, or still the attempt forsake, And not my chariot, but my counsel, take, While yet securely on the earth you stand, Nor touch the horses with too rash a hand.