Ovid

“ I will be known as the glory of the Pelignian race,
whom whose own liberty had gathered honest arms,
when anxious Rome feared allied bands.
And anyone seeing the walls of watery Sulmo,
which few acres of field hold,
would say ‘You who were able to bear such a poet:
howsoever small you are, I call you great.’
O refined boy, and the boy's Amathusian parent,
pull up your golden standard from my field!
Horned Bacchus clangs with a heavier wand:
a greater space must be beaten by greater horses. ”