P. Oxy. xv. 1921, no. 1795, p. 113, lines 18-30
“While I live, I love to sing these songs and when I die
Put a pipe above my head and a lyre near my feet.
Play a song for me.
Who could find a limit to wealth or cure for poverty?
Or who among the human race knows an end to gold?
Now one who has money wants more money still
And even though he’s rich, he’s tortured like the poor!
Play a song for me.
Whenever you see a corpse or pass by quiet tombs
You’re glancing at a shared mirror: the dead expected this.
Time is on loan and the lender is mean.
When he asks for payment in full, you render it with pain.
Play a song for me.”
ταῦτα ζῶν ἆισαί τ᾿ ἔραμαι καὶ ὅταν ἀποθάνω
αὐλὸν ὑπὲρ κεφαλῆς θέτε μοι παρὰ ποσ(σ)ὶ δὲ λύρη[ν.
αὔλει μοι.
Μέτρα τί[ς] ἀν πλούτου, τίς ἀνεύρατο μέτρα πενίας
ἢ τίς ἐν ἀνθρώποις χρυσοῦ πάλιν εὕρατο μέτρον;
νῦν γὰρ ὁ χρήματ᾿ ἔχων ἔτι πλε[ί]ονα χρήματα θέλει,
πλούσιος ὢν δ᾿ ὁ τάλας βασανίζεται ὥσπερ ὁ πένης.
αὔλ[ει μοι.
Νεκρὸν ἐάν ποτ᾿ ἴδηις καὶ μνήματα κωφὰ παράγηις
κοινὸν ἔσοπτρον ὁρᾶι(ς)· ὁ θανὼν οὕτως προσεδόκα.
ὁ χρό[ν]ος ἐστὶ δάνος, τὸ ζῆν πικρός ἐσθ᾿ ὁ δανίσας,
κἂν τότ᾿ ἀπαιτῆσαί σε θέληι, κλαίων [ἀ]ποδιδοῖς.
αὔλει μοι.
