When Caesar and Pompeius later quarreled
I did not side with either of the two,
But like a scale-tongue, centrally kept pointing . . .
I stayed at home and visited but rarely,
Shamming an illness, which truly did reside
Within my body, for I slept very little
And tossed about, with many fears perspiring,
And tortured by the influx of my thoughts,
Surely that is an illness. If not, what is an illness?
Like yonder geese, compelled by heat to migrate,
To leave the Orient for cooler climes,
Before they reach the mountain-tops of Taurus
Where dwell their enemies, the killing eagles.
The geese pick up small pebbles in their beaks
And carry these across the tops of Taurus,
For fear their habitual noisy cackling
Might wake the eagles, dozing in the sunshine.
Just like the geese one must be very careful
In times uncertain, in places wrought with danger.
Pompeius once invited me to visit
In distant Thracea, I humbly sent him word
That I will gladly lend him any moneys
That he might need, but he should not insist
On my own presence . . . . because I was quite ailing
And feared the dangers of a prolonged journey.
Later when Caesar to Rome again returned,
(By then Pompeius was in Egypt slain)
I went to Caesar . . . We managed well together,
And friendly I remained with this rare man.
In self-same way, my prudence always guided
My cautious steps, in later wars and storms.
I did not side with Anthony, nor Brutus,
Though freely loaned I money to the former,
The latter too enjoyed my preferred aid,
And neither cause could claim my preference.
Thus I remained towards Augustus and Anthony
When unwise haste drove many of my friends
Into abysmal depths of sheer destruction.
Yes, even Cicero, for lack of caution
Soon met his end . . . how bitterly I wept
When told . . . for Tullius I know loved me
More dearly than he loved his brother, Quintus.
This balance of a prudent man, my comrades,
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