Just like the fate that binds together wolves and sheep, such is the difference between you and me-- you, with your sides burned by Spanish ropes and your shins by hard shackles. Although you can swagger about with your arrogant wealth, Fortune has not changed who you really are.
Don’t you see as you strut along the Via Sacra in your outrageous toga that passersby turn their eyes away in absolute disgust? “Cut by the lashes of the triumvir capitals until the herald was disgusted, now he ploughs 1,000 iugera of Falerian farmland and wears out the Appian Way with fast gaulish ponies. Now a ‘great’ knight, he sits in the first seats of the theater in contempt of Otho’s laws. What is the point of having the heavy beaked ships led out against mercenaries and manual slaves if this— this-- is a military tribune?”