How come, Maecenas, no one alive’s ever content
With the lot he chose or the one fate threw in his way,
But praises those who pursue some alternative track?
‘O fortunate tradesman!’ the ageing soldier cries
Body shattered by harsh service, bowed by the years.
The merchant however, ship tossed by a southern gale,
Says: ‘Soldiering’s better. And why? You charge and then:
It’s a quick death in a moment, or a joyful victory won.’
When a client knocks hard on his door before cockcrow
The adept in justice and law praises the farmer’s life,
While he, going bail and having been dragged up to town
From the country, proclaims only town-dwellers happy.
Quoting all the other numerous examples would tire
Even that windbag Fabius. So to avoid delaying you,
Here’s what I’m getting at. If some god said: ‘Here I am!
Now I’ll perform whatever you wish: you be a merchant
Who but now was a soldier: you the lawyer become a farmer:
You change roles with him, he with you, and depart. Well!
What are you waiting for? They’d refuse, on the verge of bliss.
What in reason would stop Jove rightly swelling his cheeks
Then, in anger, and declaring that never again will he
Be so obliging as to attend to their prayers.