That man, once not the least among your friends, asks that you read his words.
Maxime, Naso rogat, §1.5.3in quibus ingenium desiste requirere nostrum, §1.5.4nescius exilii ne videare mei.
Maximus, Naso asks this, in which cease to seek my talent, lest you seem unaware of my exile.
§1.5.5cernis ut ignavum corrumpant otia corpus, §1.5.6ut capiant vitium, ni moveantur, aquae, §1.5.7et mihi siquis erat ducendi carminis usus, §1.5.8deficit estque minor factus inerte situ.
You see how leisure corrupts an inactive body, how waters, if they are not moved, acquire taint, and if I had any skill in spinning a song, it fails and has become less through inactive decay.
§1.5.9haec quoque, quae legitis, siquid mihi. Maxime, credis, §1.5.10scribimus invita vixque coacta manu.
These things too, which you read, if you believe me at all, Maximus, I write with an unwilling and scarcely forced hand.
It does not please me to strain my mind into such cares, nor does the Muse, though summoned, come to the harsh Getae.
Yet as you yourself see, I struggle to spin out a verse: but it does not become softer than my fate.
§1.5.15cum relego, scripsisse pudet, quia plurima cerno §1.5.16me quoque, qui feci, iudice digna lini.
When I read it over, I am ashamed to have written, because I see very many things worthy of being erased, even with me, who made them, as judge.
§1.5.17nec tamen emendo, labor hic quam scribere maior.
And yet I do not correct them; this labor is greater than writing.
§1.5.18mensque pati durum sustinet aegra nihil,
And my sick mind cannot bear to endure anything hard.
Am I indeed to begin to use the file more bitingly, and call individual words to judgment?
§1.5.21torquet enim fortuna parum, nisi Lixus in Hebrum §1.5.22confluat, et frondes Alpibus addat Atho?
For does fortune torment me too little, unless the Lixus into the Hebrus flows, and Athos adds foliage to the Alps?
§1.5.23parcendum est animo miserabile vulnus habenti.
One must spare a mind that has a wretched wound.
§1.5.24subducunt oneri colla perusta boves.
Oxen withdraw their chafed necks from the burden.
§1.5.25at, puto, fructus adest, iustissima causa laborum, §1.5.26et sata cum multo faenore reddit ager?
But, I suppose, fruit is at hand, the most just cause of labors, and the field returns the sown crops with much interest?
§1.5.27tempus ad hoc nobis, repetas licet omnia, nullum §1.5.28profuit—atque utinam non nocuisset!—opus.
Up to this time, though you may recall all of them, no work of mine has been of use to me—and would that it had not harmed me!
§1.5.29cur igitur scribam, miraris? miror et ipse,
Why then do I write, do you wonder?
§1.5.30et tecum quaero saepe quid inde petam, §1.5.31an populus vere sanos negat esse poetas, §1.5.32sumque fides huius maxima vocis ego, §1.5.33qui, sterili totiens cum sim deceptus ab arvo, §1.5.34damnosa persto condere semen humo?
I myself wonder too, and often ask with you what I seek from it, or does the populace truly deny that poets are sane, and I am the greatest proof of this saying, I who, though so often deceived by a sterile field, persist in burying seed in harmful soil?
§1.5.35scilicet est cupidus studiorum quisque suorum, §1.5.36tempus et adsueta ponere in arte iuvat, §1.5.37saucius eiurat pugnam gladiator, et idem §1.5.38inmemor antiqui vulneris arma capit, §1.5.39nil sibi cum pelagi dicit fore naufragus undis, §1.5.40et ducit remos qua modo navit aqua.
To be sure, everyone is eager for his own pursuits, and it delights to spend time in an accustomed art, the wounded gladiator swears off the fight, and yet the same man, unmindful of his old wound, takes up arms, the shipwrecked man says he will have nothing to do with the waves of the sea, and plies the oars in the water where he just swam.
Thus I constantly keep up a useless pursuit, and return to the goddesses whom I wish I had not worshipped.
§1.5.43quid potius faciam? non sum, qui segnia ducam
What rather should I do?
§1.5.44otia: mors nobis tempus habetur iners.
I am not one to lead lazy leisure: inactive time is held by me as death.
§1.5.45nec iuvat in lucem nimio marcescere vino, §1.5.46nec tenet incertas alea blanda manus, §1.5.47cum dedimus somno quas corpus postulat horas, §1.5.48quo ponam vigilans tempora longa modo?
Nor does it please me to waste away until daylight with too much wine, nor does enticing dice hold my unsteady hands, when we have given to sleep the hours that the body demands, in what way, awake, shall I spend the long hours?
Or, having forgotten my native custom, shall I learn to bend Sarmatian bows, and be drawn by the art of the place?
§1.5.51hoc quoque me studium prohibent adsumere vires, §1.5.52mensque magis gracili corpore nostra valet, §1.5.53cum bene quaesieris quid agam, magis utile nil est §1.5.54artibus his, quae nil utilitatis habent.
My strength also forbids me to take up this pursuit, and my mind is stronger than my slender body, when you have well inquired what I am doing, nothing is more useful than these arts, which have no usefulness.
§1.5.55consequor ex illis casus oblivia nostri; §1.5.56hanc messem satis est si mea reddit humus, §1.5.57gloria vos acuat, vos, ut recitata probentur §1.5.58carmina, Pieriis invigilate choris, §1.5.59quod venit ex facili, satis est componere nobis, §1.5.60et nimis intenti causa laboris abest,
From them I obtain forgetfulness of my misfortune; it is enough if my soil returns this harvest, Let glory stimulate you; you, watch over the Pierian choruses, so that your recited poems may be approved, it is enough for me to compose what comes easily, and the cause for too intense labor is absent, Why should I polish my poems with anxious care?
Or should I fear lest a Getan might not approve them?
Perhaps I act boldly, but I boast that the Hister has no talent greater than mine.
§1.5.65hoc, ubi vivendum est, satis est, si consequor arvo, §1.5.66inter inhumanos esse poeta Getas.
In this land, where I must live, it is enough if I succeed, in being a poet among the savage Getae.
§1.5.67quo mihi diversum fama contendere in orbem?
Why should I strive to stretch my fame into a different world?
§1.5.68quem fortuna dedit. Roma sit ille locus.
Let Rome be that place which fortune gave.
My unhappy Muse is content with this theater: thus I have deserved, thus the great gods have willed.
§1.5.71nec reor hinc istuc nostris iter esse libellis, §1.5.72quo Boreas pinna deficiente venit, dividimur caelo, §1.5.73quaeque est procul urbe Quirini, §1.5.74aspicit hirsutos comminus Ursa Getas.
Nor do I think there is a path for my little books from here to there, where Boreas comes with failing wing; we are divided by heaven, and the Bear, which is far from Quirinus' city, looks closely upon the hairy Getae.
Across so much land, so many waters, I can scarcely believe that the token of my pursuit has leaped.
Imagine that it is read, and, what is wonderful, imagine that it pleases: certainly that matter helps the author nothing.
§1.5.79quid tibi, si calidae, prosit, laudere Syenae, §1.5.80aut ubi Taprobanen Indica tinguit aqua?
What would it profit you, if you should be praised at hot Syene, or where the Indian water colors Taprobane?
§1.5.81altius ire libet? si te distantia longe
Does it please you to go higher?
§1.5.82Pleiadum laudent signa, quid inde feras?
If the far-distant signs of the Pleiades should praise you, what would you bring away from there?
But neither do I arrive there with mediocre writings, and fame has fled from the city together with its master.