Horace (Quintus Horatius Flaccus) - 1.3.6. lyrics

There's little fear of your punishing with the cane One who deserves worse, given you'd say that theft Is as bad as highway robbery, and use the same hook To prune all crime great or small, if only men gave you Royal powers. If as the Stoics say the wise man's rich, Uniquely handsome, a brilliant cobbler, a king for sure, Why do you need to be given what you already have? ‘That's not what Chrysippus meant', they cry, ‘without making Sandals or shoes the wise man is still a fine cobbler.' What? ‘Just as a silent Hermogenes is still the best singer And player: and clever Alfenus when he'd thrown away All the tools of his trade and closed up his shop, was A barber still, so the wise man alone's the master Of every role, and so a king.' O mightiest king Of mighty kings, mischievous lads pluck at your beard: And unless you drive them away with your staff, the crowd All round you jostle, while you poor wretch fume and snarl! To be brief, while you, a king, go to your public bath Without a single attendant to keep you company But stupid Crispinus, my sweet friends will forgive me If I, a fool, commit some crime, and I'll tolerate Gladly in turn all their shortcomings, and I'll live, More happily than your majesty, a private man.