Horace (Quintus Horatius Flaccus) - 2.3.4. lyrics

“Avarice should get the largest dose of medicine, I'd say: all of Anticyra's hellebore for the mad. Staberius' heirs had to carve his wealth on his tomb, If not they'd to entertain the ma**es with a hundred Paired gladiators, at a funeral feast, to be planned By Arrius, plus all of Africa's corn. His will said: ‘Whether I'm right or wrong in this, don't criticise me.' That's what Staberius' proud mind foresaw, I think. ‘So what did he mean when he willed that his heirs Should carve his wealth in stone?' Well, he thought poverty Was a mighty evil, all his life, and guarded against it Strongly, so if he'd chanced to die a penny poorer, He'd have thought that much less of himself: he thought all things, Virtue, reputation, honour, things human or divine Bowed to the glory of riches: that he who's garnered them Is famous, just and brave. ‘And wise?' Of course, a king, Whatever he wishes. He hoped that wealth, won as if by Virtue, would bring him great fame. Where's the difference Between him and Aristippus the Greek, who in deepest Libya, ordered his slaves who travelled more slowly Under its weight, to unload his gold? Which was crazier? Useless examples explain one mystery by another. If a man bought lutes, and piled them up together, While caring not a fig for the lute or any art: Or, though no cobbler, bought lasts and awls: or hating trade Ships' sails, all would think him insane and obsessed And they'd be right. Why is the man who hoards gold And silver any different from them? He's no idea How to use his pile, fearing to touch it as sacred.”