Regard a thing with wonder, with a wrench
You'll give it up when bidden to retrench.
Keep clear of courts: a homely life transcends
The vaunted bliss of monarchs and their friends.
The stag was wont to quarrel with the steed,
Nor let him graze in common on the mead:
The steed, who got the worst in each attack,
Asked help from man, and took him on his back:
But when his foe was quelled, he ne'er got rid
Of his new friend, still bridled and bestrid.
So he who, fearing penury, loses hold
Of independence, better far than gold,
Will toil, a hopeless drudge, till life is spent,
Because he'll never, never learn content.
Means should, like shoes, be neither large nor small;
Too wide, they trip us up, too strait, they gall.
Then live contented, Fuscus, nor be slow
To give a friendly rap to one you know,
Whene'er you find me struggling to increase
My neat sufficiency, and ne'er at peace.
Gold will be slave or master: 'tis more fit
That it be led by us than we by it.
From tumble-down Vacuna's fane I write,
Wanting but you to make me happy quite.
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