Quintus Horatius Flaccus

“ The man becomes a clown who once was nice,
Talks all of elms and vineyards, ploughs and soil,
And ages fast with struggling and sheer toil;
Till, when his sheep are stolen, his bullock drops,
His goats die off, a blight destroys his crops,
One night he takes a waggon-horse, and sore
With all his losses, rides to Philip's door.
Philip perceives him squalid and unshorn,
And cries, "Why, Mena! surely you look worn;
You work too hard." "Nay, call me wretch," says he,
"Good patron; 'tis the only name for me. ”

“ I beg you, give me my old life again."
He that finds out he's changed his lot for worse,
Let him betimes the untoward choice reverse:
For still, when all is said, the rule stands fast,
'That each man's shoe be made on his own last. ”

“ An auction-crier, poor, but without blame,
One who can work or idle, get or spend,
Who loves his home and likes to see a friend,
Enjoys the circus, and when work's got through,
Hies to the field, and does as others do. ”