I’d be insane to be ashamed of such a father,
So I won’t defend myself by saying, as many do,
It’s not their fault they don’t have well-known, noble
Parents. What I say and think are quite otherwise:
If at a certain point in our lives Nature required us
To relive the past, and choose what parents we wished,
To suit our pride, then I’d still be content with mine,
I’d not want parents blessed with rods and thrones.
The crowd would think me mad, you sane perhaps,
For not wishing to carry an unaccustomed burden.
I’d be forced at once to acquire more possessions,
Welcome more visitors, take one or two companions
So as not to travel or visit the countryside alone,
Keep more horses and grooms, take a wagon-train,
While now I can ride on a gelded mule to Tarentum,
Its flanks galled by a heavy pack, withers by the rider:
No one will call me vulgar, Tillius the praetor,
As they do you, when five slaves, on the Tibur road,
Follow behind you with a chest, and a case of wine.