Horace, Satires I.iv 33-44
omnes hi metuunt versus, odere poetas. 'faenum habet in cornu, longe fuge; dummodo risum excutiat sibi, non hic cuiquam parcet amico et quodcumque semel chartis inleverit, omnis gestiet a furno redeuntis scire lacuque et pueros et anus.' agedum pauca accipe contra. primum ego me illorum, dederim quibus esse poetis, excerpam numero: neque enim concludere versum dixeris esse satis neque, siqui scribat uti nos sermoni propiora, putes hunc esse poetam. ingenium cui sit, cui mens divinior atque os magna sonaturum, des nominis huius honorem. They dread our verse and hate the poets. “Flee! Far! For there's hay tied to his horns. He won't spare any friend to raise a laugh. Whatever he scribbles down on paper, everyone must know about it.” Listen, let me say that first I’d cut my name from lists of poets; just churning out a verse is not enough. Someone like me, who writes in common language, doesn't deserve it. Give that name to one whose soul ...