style="font-size:15px;"> To lie awake half-comatose with fearbecause bloodthirsty robbers might be near,
or flames, or slaves who try to rob you blind—
is that so great? For that I would not mind
if I remained among the destitute,105
since if you're feeling chills from fever shoot
right through your body, or some injury
is keeping you in bed, who will there be
to sit with you, to get your lotions ready,
to call the doctor when you feel unsteady,110
then ship you back to kids and other kin?
You would recover to your wife's chagrin—
and to your son's. You'll be despised by all,
by people whom you barely can recall:
friends, neighbors, children. Why does it amaze115
you that when you indulge your greedy ways
nobody gives you love you never earned?
Or, when your schemes for winning love were spurned
by family that Nature sent your way,
wouldn't your efforts cause the same dismay120
as if you gave your well-trained mule a crack
at racing stallions at the Campus track?
In short, be cautious as you get ahead,
and when you grow more wealthy, let your dread
of poverty decrease, and when you gain125
what you are seeking, let it ease your pain
so that you won't be like Ummidius,
who was—put bluntly—so cupidinous
he had to guess his count of moneybags
yet was so cheap he dressed in servant's rags.130
Until his final moments he would brood
about his risk of death from lack of food
until Tyndareus' boldest daughter,
a former slavegirl, used her axe for slaughter.
“Exactly what, then, are you urging on us?135
Live like Naevius or Nomentanus?”
You keep on posing opposite extremes!
When I advise against your chintzy schemes,
I'm not suggesting throwing cash around;
there surely is a balance to be found140
between Tanais and the family
by marriage of Visellus. There must be
measure in actions; bounds that do not change
define the moral only in their range.
So I return to where I first began,145
and ask why greed does not allow a man
to be content, and why he has to praise
those taking other paths and mope for days
about the larger udder of a goat
his neighbor prizes, then has to devote150 himself to serial oneupsmanship (though with the unwashed masses he will skip comparisons). In such a competition, a richer fool keeps blocking your position as when the chariots escape the gate155 and thunder forward at a reckless rate; in hot pursuit you'll find some charioteer who doesn't worry who is in the rear. In the same fashion, hardly anyone confesses joy, and then, when life is done,160 says goodbye like a guest who's had his fill. But I have also overstayed, and will not add a word so no one thinks I stole from droopy-eyed Crispinus some dull scroll.
The gangs of Syrian flute-girls, the shills
who sell exotic potions for our ills,
the bums, the actresses, the silly twits
and others of that ilk, indulge in fits
of grief about the late Tigellius5
because, of course, he was so generous.
Here, at the opposite extreme, this guy
who dreads the spendthrift label, would deny
a tiny handout for a flat-broke friend
though it would make his chills and hunger end.10
If you should ever ask this fellow what
(besides demands of his relentless gut)
could justify ransacking the estate
his noble forebears labored to create—
while he was sliding deeply into debt15
by buying every trifle he could get—
he'll answer that he doesn't want to seem…
meanspirited or cheap.
He wins esteem
from some, but others do not understand.
Fufidius, enriched by loans and land,20
so dreads the label of a prodigal
that he quintuples fees on principal,
and when his debtors plunge toward deeper trouble,
his attempts to get paid back redouble.
He preys on teens whose togas are brand new;25
when fathers leave, he takes an IOU.
On hearing this, who would not blurt out,
“Lord,
he must provide himself a fair reward!”?
Much like the father in the Terence play
who suffered when he sent his son away,30
you can't accept that he's his own worst friend.
If now you ask,
“When does this story end?”
it's
