§3.9.1Quod sit in his eadem sententia, Brute, libellis, §3.9.2carmina nescio quem carpere nostra refers: §3.9.3nil nisi me terra fruar ut propiore rogare, §3.9.4et quam sim denso cinctus ab hoste loqui.
That there is the same theme in these booklets, Brutus, you report that someone is criticizing my poems: that I ask for nothing except that I may enjoy a nearer land, and speak of how I am surrounded by a dense enemy.
§3.9.5o, quam de multis vitium reprehenditur unum!
Oh, how out of many faults only one is blamed!
§3.9.6hoc peccat solum si mea Musa, bene est.
If my Muse sins in this alone, it is well.
§3.9.7ipse ego librorum video delicta meorum, §3.9.8cum sua plus iusto carmina quisque probet, §3.9.9auctor opus laudat: sic forsitan Agrius olim §3.9.10Thersiten facie dixerit esse bona.
I myself see the faults of my books, although everyone approves of their own poems more than is just; the author praises his work: thus perhaps Agrius once would have said that Thersites was of good appearance.
§3.9.11iudicium tamen hic nostrum non decipit error, §3.9.12nec, quicquid genui, protinus illud amo.
Yet here error does not deceive my judgment, nor, whatever I have produced, do I love it immediately.
Why then, if I see myself failing, should I sin, and allow a fault to be in my writing, you ask?
§3.9.15non eadem ratio est sentire et demere morbos; §3.9.16sensus inest cunctis, tollitur arte malum,
It is not the same thing to feel and to remove diseases; feeling is in all, the evil is removed by art.
Often, desiring to change some word, I have left it, and my strength deserts my judgment.
§3.9.19saepe piget (quid enim dubitem tibi vera fateri) §3.9.20corrigere et longi ferre laboris onus.
Often it irks me (for why should I hesitate to confess the truth to you) to correct and to bear the burden of long labor.
§3.9.21scribentem iuvat ipse labor minuitque laborem, §3.9.22cumque suo crescens pectore fervet opus.
The labor itself helps the writer and diminishes the toil, and the work glows as it grows within its own breast.
§3.9.23corrigere ut res est tanto magis ardua quanto §3.9.24magnus Aristarcho maior Homerus erat, §3.9.25sic animum lento curarum frigore laedit §3.9.26et cupidi cursus frena retentat equi.
Just as to correct is a thing so much more arduous, by as much as great Homer was greater than Aristarchus, so it hurts the mind with the slow cold of anxieties and holds back the reins of the horse eager for the course.
§3.9.27atque ita di mites minuant mihi Caesaris iram, §3.9.28ossaque pacata nostra tegantur humo, §3.9.29ut mihi conanti nonnumquam intendere curas §3.9.30fortunae species obstat acerba meae, §3.9.31vixque mihi videor, faciam qui carmina, sanus, §3.9.32inque feris curem corrigere illa Getis.
And so may the merciful gods diminish Caesar's anger towards me, and may our bones be covered by a peaceful earth, as to me, when trying sometimes to focus my attention, the bitter vision of my fortune stands in the way, and I scarcely seem sane to myself, who make poems, and should care to correct them among the wild Getae.
§3.9.33nil tamen e scriptis magis excusabile nostris, §3.9.34quam sensus cunctis paene quod unus inest.
Yet there is nothing more excusable in my writings, than that almost one single feeling is in them all.
§3.9.35laeta fere laetus cecini, cano tristia tristis.
Joyful things I sang when joyful, sad things I sing when sad.
§3.9.36conveniens operi tempus utrumque suo est.
Both times are suited to their own work.
What should I write about except the vice of this bitter region, and pray that I may die in a more convenient place?
Since I say the same things so many times, I am scarcely heard by anyone, and my words, ignored, lack any effect.
§3.9.41et tamen haec eadem cum sint, non scripsimus isdem, §3.9.42unaque per plures vox mea temptat opem.
And yet, though these things are the same, we have not written them to the same people, and my single voice seeks help through many.
Or, lest the reader should find the same sense twice, was only one of my friends to be asked, Brutus?
This was not of such great value, forgive me, learned ones, for confessing: the fame of my work is cheaper than my safety.
In short, the material which anyone has chosen for himself, a poet varies in many ways by his own judgment.
My Muse is too true an indicator of my misfortunes, and has the weight of an uncorrupted witness.
§3.9.51nec liber ut fieret, sed uti sua cuique daretur §3.9.52littera, propositum curaque nostra fuit.
Nor was our purpose and care that a book should be made, but that to each friend his own letter should be given.
Afterwards, I joined them, collected however without order: lest perchance you think this work was chosen by me.