X. The love of fame, it seems, is the passion that inspires the poet’s genius:  but even in this respect, is he so amply paid as to rival in any degree the professors of the persuasive arts?  As to the indifferent poet, men leave him to his own [a] mediocrity:  the real genius moves in a narrow circle.  Let there be a reading of a poem by the ablest master of his art:  will the fame of his performance reach all quarters, I will not say of the empire, but of Rome only?  Among the strangers who arrive from Spain, from Asia, or from Gaul, who enquires [b] after Saleius Bassus?  Should it happen that there is one, who thinks, of him; his curiosity is soon satisfied; he passes on, content with a transient view, as if he had seen a picture or a statue.

In what I have advanced, let me not be misunderstood:  I do not mean to deter such as are not blessed with the gift of oratory, from the practice of their favourite art, if it serves to fill up their time, and gain a degree of reputation.  I am an admirer of eloquence [c]; I hold it venerable, and even sacred, in all its shapes, and every mode of composition.  The pathetic of tragedy, of which you, Maternus, are so great a master; the majesty of the epic, the gaiety of the lyric muse; the wanton elegy, the keen iambic, and the pointed epigram; all have their charms; and Eloquence, whatever may be the subject which she chooses to adorn, is with me the sublimest faculty, the queen of all the arts and sciences.  But this, Maternus, is no apology for you, whose conduct is so extraordinary, that, though formed by nature to reach the summit of perfection [d], you choose to wander into devious paths, and rest contented with an humble station in the vale beneath.

Were you a native of Greece, where to exhibit in the public games [e] is an honourable employment; and if the gods had bestowed upon you the force and sinew of the athletic Nicostratus [f]; do you imagine that I could look tamely on, and see that amazing vigour waste itself away in nothing better than the frivolous art of darting the javelin, or throwing the coit?  To drop the allusion, I summon you from the theatre and public recitals to the business of the forum, to the tribunals of justice, to scenes of real contention, to a conflict worthy of your abilities.  You cannot decline the challenge, for you are left without an excuse.  You cannot say, with a number of others, that the profession of poetry is safer than that of the public orator; since you have ventured, in a tragedy written with spirit, to display the ardour of a bold and towering genius.

And for whom have you provoked so many enemies?  Not for a friend; that would have had alleviating circumstances.  You undertook the cause of Cato, and for him committed yourself.  You cannot plead, by way of apology, the duty of an advocate, or the sudden effusion of sentiment in the heat and hurry of an unpremeditated speech.  Your plan was settled; a great historical personage was your hero, and you