TANS. To him who, unlike Homer, Hesiod, Orpheus, and others, could not
sing without the rules of Aristotle, and who, having no Muse of his own,
would coquette with that of Homer.
CIC. Then they are wrong, those stupid pedants of our days, who exclude
from the number of poets those who do not use words and metaphors
conformable to, or whose principles are not in union with, those of
Homer and Virgil; or because they do not observe the custom of
invocation, or because they weave one history or tale with another, or
because they finish the song with an epilogue on what has been said and
a prelude on what is to be said, and many other kinds of criticism and
censure, from whence it seems they would imply that they themselves, if
the fancy took them, could be the true poets; and yet in fact they are
no other than worms, that know not how to do anything well, but are born
only to gnaw and befoul the studies and labours of others; and not being
able to attain celebrity by their own virtue and ingenuity, seek to put
themselves in the front, by hook or by crook, through the defects and
errors of others.
TANS. Now, to return from this long digression, I say that there are as
many sorts of poets as there are human sentiments and ideas; and to
these it is possible to adapt garlands, not only of every species of
plant, but also of other kinds of material. So the crowns of poets are
made not only of myrtle and of laurel, but of vine leaves for the
white-wine verses, and of ivy for the bacchanals; of olive for sacrifice
and laws; of poplar, of elm, and of corn for agriculture; of cypress for
funerals, and innumerable others for other occasions; and, if it please
you, also of that material signified by a good fellow when he exclaimed:
O Friar Leek! O Poetaster!
That in Milan didst buckle on thy wreath
Composed of salad, sausage, and the pepper-caster.
CIC. Now surely he of divers moods, which he exhibits in various ways,
may cover himself with the branches of different plants, and may hold
discourse worthily with the Muses, for they are his aura or comforter,
his anchor or support, and his harbour, to which he retires in times of
labour, of agitation, and storm. Hence he cries: "O mountain of
Parnassus, where I abide! Muses, with whom I converse! Fountain of
Helicon, where I am nourished. Mountain, that affordest me a quiet
dwelling-place! Muses, that inspire me with profound doctrines.
Fountain, that cleanses me! Mountain, on whose ascent my heart uprises!
Muses, that in discourse revive my spirit. Well, whose arbours cool my
brows! Change my death into life, my cypress to laurels, and my hells
into heavens: that is, give me immortality, make me poet, render me
illustrious!"
TANS. Well; because to those whom Heaven favours the greatest evils turn
to greatest good, for needs or necessities bring forth labours and
studies, and these most often bring the glory of immortal splendour.