1Steward of the woods and of the little farm that restores me to myself, which you scorn, though it was once inhabited by five households and used to send five good fathers to Varia, let us compete whether I root out the thorns from my mind more stoutly or you from the land, and whether Horace or his property is in better shape. 6Although the devotion and grief of Lamia keep me here, as he mourns his brother, grieving inconsolably for his brother snatched away, yet my mind and heart carry me there and long to burst the barriers that block the course. I call the man who lives in the country happy, you the man in the city.
11He who likes another's lot, no doubt, hates his own. 12Each is a fool, and unfairly blames the undeserving place: the fault lies in the mind, which never escapes itself. 14As a drudge you used to long for the country in silent prayer; now, as steward, you wish for the city and the games and the baths. You know that I am consistent and leave sadly whenever hateful business drags me to Rome. We do not admire the same things; 18therein lies the disagreement between you and me. 19For what you think deserts and inhospitable wastes, the man who feels as I do calls lovely, and he hates what you think beautiful. The brothel and the greasy cookshop, I see, stir in you a longing for the city, and the fact that this corner of mine will bear pepper and incense sooner than grapes, and that there is no tavern close by to supply you with wine, nor a flute-girl courtesan to whose din you might stamp heavily on the ground; 26and yet you toil at fields long untouched by mattocks, and look after the unyoked ox and fill it with stripped leaves; 29the stream adds work for the lazy man, if rain has fallen, and must be taught by many a dam to spare the sunny meadow.
31Now come, hear what breaks our harmony. 32One whom fine togas and glossy hair became, who, as you know, pleased greedy Cinara without gifts, who drank clear Falernian from midday, a short meal delights him and sleep on the grass beside a stream; 36nor am I ashamed to have played, but I would be ashamed not to cut the game short. There, no one files away at my comforts with a sidelong eye, nor poisons them with hidden hatred and bite: the neighbours laugh as I move clods and stones. 40You would rather gnaw the daily rations in town with the slaves; 41into their number you rush in your prayers: the sharp-witted groom envies you the use of firewood, flock and garden. The ox longs for saddle-trappings, the lazy nag longs to plough.
44My verdict will be that each should gladly practise the craft he knows.