Satire III: On the City of Rome (selections)
Though I grieve that my friend is leaving for Cumae,
and giving up the city, yet I approve of his decision.
For who could be so hardened as to endure the things
that Rome now suffers? Who could endure the arrogance
of the wealthy, the danger of the streets, the filth,
the noise, the endless lawsuits? "In Rome, everything
can be had for a price."
The city is full of Greeks—quick-witted, smooth-talking Greeks—
who will do anything for money. They flatter the rich,
they mock the poor, they cheat everyone. And the worst of it is
that they succeed. The Greek who arrives this morning
with nothing but his wits will be rich by tonight;
while the honest Roman who has worked all his life
cannot pay his rent.
The houses are so tall that they block out the sun;
the streets are so narrow that you cannot walk without being jostled;
the traffic is so thick that you are more likely to be killed
by a falling tile than by an enemy's sword.
And if you survive the traffic, you must still survive the cooks—
for every window is a potential death-trap, and every passerby
is at risk from the pots and pans that come crashing down.
"Go to sleep," they say. But who can sleep in Rome?
The wagons rumble past all night; the drivers shout and curse;
the cattle low and the chains rattle. Even if you are rich enough
to live in a quiet house, you cannot escape the noise of the city.
Rome is a city that never sleeps—and that is its curse.
Satire X: The Vanity of Human Wishes (selections)
In all the lands that stretch from Cadiz to the Ganges,
there is no one who has not prayed for something foolish.
We ask for wealth, for power, for beauty, for long life—
but none of these things brings happiness.
You pray for power? Consider the fate of those who have held it.
Sejanus was the most powerful man in Rome, second only to the emperor;
and yet he was strangled, and his body was thrown down the Gemonian stairs.
The people who had flattered him now trampled on his corpse.
Power is a dangerous gift; it corrupts the soul,
and in the end, it destroys the man who wields it.
You pray for eloquence? Consider the fate of the great orators.
Cicero's eloquence did not save him from the assassin's sword;
Demosthenes' eloquence did not save him from exile.
The gift of speech is a gift of the gods—but it is also
a source of envy and hatred. The man who speaks well
is feared by the powerful; and the powerful do not tolerate
those they fear.
You pray for beauty? Consider the fate of the beautiful.
Nireus was beautiful, but he was insignificant;
Hector was beautiful, but he was killed by Achilles;
the beauty of women has been the cause of wars and destruction.
Beauty is a fragile gift; it fades with time,
and while it lasts, it attracts envy and danger.
You pray for long life? Consider the fate of the old.
Priam lived to see his sons killed and his city burned;
Nestor lived to see three generations of heroes pass away;
Tithonus was granted immortality but not eternal youth—
and so he withered and shrivelled, until he was nothing
but a voice, chattering endlessly in the halls of Aurora.
Long life is not a blessing; it is a curse—
if it means outliving all that you love.
What, then, should we pray for? Not for wealth,
not for power, not for beauty, not for long life.
Rather, pray for a sound mind in a sound body;
a mind that is courageous against the fear of death,
that is patient in suffering, that is temperate in desire,
that knows the true value of time, and that can endure
whatever fortune brings. For this is the only true happiness—
and it is the only happiness that is within our power
to achieve.