Petronius: Satires and the Book of Priapeia

‘Whoever seeks the effects of severe art,
And applies his mind to great things, let him first
Polish his morals with the exact law of frugality.
Let him not care to see a royal house with a haughty look,
Or as a client hunt for the dinners of the powerful,
Nor, addicted to the lost, drown the heat of the mind
In wine, nor sit as a clapper in the theater,
Purchased for the grimaces of an actor.
But whether the citadels of armor-bearing Tritonidis Athena smile,
Or the land inhabited by the Lacedaemonian settler,
Or the home of the Sirens, let him give his first years to verses,
And drink from the Maeonian Homeric fountain with a happy heart.
Soon, full of the Socratic band, let the free man
Let go of the reins and shake the weapons of the huge Demosthenes.
Here let the Roman hand flow around, and lately
Exonerated from the Greek sound, let it change its flavor when infused.
Meanwhile, let the page detached from the forum give a course,
And let fortune sound, marked by a swift movement,
Let them grant feasts and wars remembered in fierce song,
And let the great words of indomitable Cicero threaten.
Gird your mind with these goods: thus, full of a large river,
You will pour forth words from a Pierian Muses' heart.’

6 While I listen to this more diligently, I did not note the flight of Ascyltos, and while I walk in the gardens in this heat of words, a huge crowd of scholastics comes into the portico, as it appeared, from the extemporaneous declamation of someone who had succeeded Agamemnon’s hortatory speech. While, therefore, the young men laugh at the sentiments and defame the order of the entire discourse, I opportunely withdrew and began to pursue Ascyltos at a run. But I was not carefully holding to the path, nor did I know what the inn was. And so, wherever I had gone, I was returning to the same place, until, fatigued by running and already wet with sweat, I approach a certain old woman who was selling rustic vegetables. “I ask you, mother,” I said, “do you know where I live?” She was delighted by that foolish urbanity and said, “Why should I not know?” She stood up and began to lead me. I thought she was divine, and suddenly, as we came into a more secluded place, the city old woman threw back a heavy patch-work cloak and said, “Here is where you must live.” When I denied that I recognized the house, I see certain naked prostitutes wandering stealthily among the inscriptions.