Εὖ εἰδώς, ὅτι θνητὸς ἔφυς, σὸν θυμὸν ἄεξε, τερπόμενος θαλίήσι. θανόντι τοι οὔ τις ὄνησις. καὶ γὰρ ἐγὼ σποδός εἰμι, Πίνου μεγάλης βασιλεύσας. ταῦτ ἔχω… - Sardanapalus

Eat, drink, and love; the rest's not worth a fillip.

Th’ Assyrians’ king, in peace with foul desire
And filthy lust that stained his regal heart,
In war, that should set princely hearts afire,
Vanquished did yield for want of martial art.
The dent of swords from kisses seemed strange,
And harder than his lady’s side his targe;
From glutton feasts to soldiers’ fare a change
His helmet far above a garland’s charge.
Who scarce the name of manhood did retain
Drenched in sloth and womanish delight,
Feeble of sprete, unpatient of pain,
When he had lost his honour and his right
(Proud time of wealth, in storms appalled with dread)
Murdered himself to show some manful deed.

Which makes life itself a lie,
Flattering dust with eternity.