May the gods grant a hundred autumns, where destruction did not consume the bodies; where fathers become progenitors, may they not cut short our middling vital force as they go.

Since a hundred years were appointed (for the life of man), interpose not, gods, in the midst of our passing existence, by inflicting infirmity in our bodies so that our sons become our sires (i.e. let us not become so feeble and firm as to be, infants and to require the paternal care of our own sons].

A hundred autumns stand before us, O ye Gods, within whose space ye bring our bodies to decay; Within whose space our sons become fathers in turn. Break ye not in the midst our course of fleeting life.