Eclogue III. — On the Good Man: a Pythagorean Sentence

The upright man and wise — Apollo, when invoked, could scarce find one such amongst all the thousands of mankind — sits in judgment on himself and searches out his whole self to a hair's breadth. What the great think, or what the fickle opinion of the empty-headed mob,... he cares not, but, after the fashion of the globe, keeps himself rounded and compact, too smooth for any blemish from without to settle upon him. However long the day may be when the Crab is in the ascendant, however long the night under the tropic of Capricorn, he reflects and weighs himself by the test of a just balance: there must be no hollows, no projections; the angle must be formed of equal lines, and the rule not deviate a jot; the underlying metal must be sound, and no tap of the finger reveal flaws beneath. He suffers not sweet sleep to weigh down his eyelids until he has pondered over all things done in the long day's course; what he has left undone, what he has done at the right, what at the wrong moment; why this action fell short in virtue, or that in sound reason. What have I left undone? Why has this opinion become settled which it was better to have changed? When I have taken pity on the poor, why have I felt deeply grieved and brokenhearted? What have I wished which it would have been well not to wish? Why have I perversely preferred expediency to honour? Have I by word or even by look wounded any man? Why has nature more power over me than self-control?

Thus he goes into all his words and acts, and turning all over when evening is come, he condemns the bad and gives the palm and prize to the good.