Epistles 1.12 (Fairclough)

If, Iccius, you are enjoying as you should the Sicilian products which you collect for Agrippa, Jupiter himself could not give you greater abundance. Away with complaints; for he is not poor, who has enough of things to use. If stomach, lungs, and feet are all in health, the wealth of kings can give you nothing more. If haply you hold aloof from what is within your reach, and live on nettles and other greens, you will go on living in the same way, though Fortune’s stream suddenly flood you with gold: either because money cannot change your nature, or because you count all else below the one thing, virtue.

We marvel that the herds of Democritus ate up his meadows and corn-fields, while his swift mind wanders abroad without his body; whereas you, in the very midst of the contagious itch of gain, still have a taste far from mean, still set your thoughts on lofty themes: what causes hold the sea in check, what rules the year, whether stars roam at large of their own will or by law, what hides the moon’s disk in darkness, what brings it into light, what is the meaning and what the effects of Nature’s jarring harmony, whether Empedocles is doting or subtle Stertinius.

However, whether it is fish, or only leeks and onions that you butcher, receive Pompeius Grosphus as a friend, and if he asks aught of you, give it freely: Grosphus will sue for nothing but what is right and fair. The market-price of friends is low, when good men are in need.

Yet, that you may not be ignorant how the world wags in Rome, the Cantabrian has fallen before the valour of Agrippa, the Armenian before that of Claudius Nero. Phraates, on humbled knees, has accepted Caesar’s imperial sway. Golden Plenty from full horn has poured her fruits upon Italy.