1I am one of those who admire the ancients, yet I do not, as some do, despise the talents of our own times. 1For nature is not so weary and exhausted, as it were, that it now brings forth nothing praiseworthy. 2Indeed, I lately heard Vergilius Romanus reading to a few people a comedy written on the model of Old Comedy, so well that it may one day be a model itself. 3I do not know whether you know the man, although you ought to; 3for he is notable for the uprightness of his character, the elegance of his talent, the variety of his works. 4He has written mimiambi with delicacy, wit and charm, and, in that genre, most eloquently; 4for there is no genre which, when perfected, cannot be called most eloquent.
4He has written comedies, emulating Menander and others of the same age; 4you may count these among those of Plautus and Terence. 5Now for the first time he has shown himself in Old Comedy, but not as if he were a beginner. 5He lacked neither force, nor grandeur, nor subtlety, nor bitterness, nor sweetness, nor wit: he adorned virtues, he attacked vices; 5he used invented names with propriety, real ones aptly. 6Only about me did he go beyond measure through excessive kindness, except that poets, after all, are allowed to lie. 7In short, I shall wring the book from him and send it to you to read, or rather to learn by heart; 7for I do not doubt that, once you have taken it up, you will not put it down.
7Farewell.