Petrarch, de sua ipsius multorumque ignorantia (III):

So things go: my studies, labors, and late nights have come to this point, that I who as a young man was accustomed to be called learned by some people, shall be found by deeper judgment to be an idiot as an old man. Perhaps I should grieve about it – but I must bear it. Perhaps I shouldn’t grieve about it, but I nevertheless must bear it, as one must bear everything which happens in human life: loss, poverty, labor, sorrow, tedium, death, exile, disgrace. Which, if it be false, is to be condemned: for it will find people to contradict it, and will fail as it goes. If however the disgrace is true, it should not be refused, as are other punishments invented for human faults. Indeed, I for my part will laugh if the true ornament of knowledge is taken away from me with words. But if the glory is false, I will not only bear the loss, but rejoice in it, being freed from my baggage and the laborious preservation of undeserved fame. It is better with the robber, when he puts off his unjust spoils, than when he enjoys his theft unpunished. One who deprives others of unjust possession can be more unjust, even if the repossession itself is just. As I said, for what bears on me, I approve not only the just sentence but also the unjust one, nor do I refuse any judge or thief.

Fame is a laborious and difficult thing, especially in literature. Everyone is vigilant and armed against it. Even those who are unable to hope for it themselves strive to take it away from others who possess it. One must ever have a pen in one’s hands. One must ever stand with an intent mind and erect ears. Whoever liberates me from this cares and this office with any proposition will earn my gratitude as my champion. Gratefully do I set aside the title of man of letters, whether it be true or false (certainly it was laborious and full of anxiety), because I remember the words of Seneca: this praise is garnered from a great expense of time and the horrible vexation of others’ ears: ‘O, man of letters!’ I should instead be content with this slightly more rustic title: ‘O, good man!’

Sic res eunt: huc et studia, et labores nostri, nostreque vigilie pervenere, ut qui iuvenis doctus a quibusdam dici soleo, profundiore iudicio senex ydiota reperiar. Dolendum forsitan, sed ferendum; forsitan nec dolendum, ferendum sane, ut reliqua omnia que hominibus accidunt: damnum, pauperies, labor, dolor, tedium, mors, exilium, infamia. Que si falsa est, spernenda est; nam et contradictores inveniet, et eundo deficiet; si vera autem, recusanda non est, ut nec alia culpis hominum inventa supplitia. Equidem, si scientie verum decus michi verbis eripitur, ridebo. At si falsum, non feram modo, sed gaudebo, non meis sarcinis excussus et indebite fame laboriosa custodia liberatus. Melius cum predone agitur, dum iniustis spoliis exuitur, quam dum impune furto utitur. Iniusti possessoris exclusor iniustius esse potest, at exclusio utique iusta est. Quod ad me attinet, ut dixi, non iustam modo sententiam, sed iniustam probo, nec iudicem quemlibet nec raptorem renuo. Operosa ac difficilis res est fama, et precipue literarum. Omnes in eam vigiles atque armati sunt; etiam qui sperare illam nequeunt habentibus nituntur eripere; habendus calamus semper in manibus; intento animo erectisque auribus semper in acie standum est. Quisquis quocunque proposito me his curis atque hoc fasce liberaverit, assertori meo gratiam habeo, et seu falsum seu verum, certe laboriosum ac solicitum literati nomen, quietis atque otii avidus, libens pono, memorans illud Annei: magno impendio temporum, magna alienarum aurium molestia laudatio hec constat. O hominem literatum! simus hoc titulo rusticiore contenti: o virum bonum!

Petrarch, On His Own Ignorance and the Ignorance of Others (III):

And alas, my friend! What suffering does an extended life not bring upon us? Whose prosperity was ever so firm that it did not occasionally change and, so to speak, grow old throughout their life? People grow old, their fortunes grow old, their reputations grow old – in short, all human things grow old. I never believed it, but in the end even our souls grow old, and the Cordovan poet’s line comes true: ‘A longer life destroys great souls.’ This is not because death follows the old age of the soul – its departure and loosening from the body, which we see and which is commonly called death, is certainly just the death of the body, not the soul.

Behold, my soul has bristled and grown old! Now I experience as an old man what, as an inexperienced youth I spoke of singing my pastorals: ‘What does long life bring to a person?’ With what soul would I have born this a few years earlier! With what efforts would I have resisted it? Believe me, it would have been a difficult war between my ignorance and the ignorance of my enemies. But to enter the contest now is as much more disgraceful as it is safer. I raise my hand, and my ignorance yields to theirs.

To be sure, I never read (perhaps conjecturing what remained to me) that story of Laberius without a certain compassion. When he had conducted his entire life in honest military service, he was led onto the stage by Julius Caesar’s prayers and flattery (which come forth armed from the mouths of princes), and he was degraded from a knight to an actor. He did not bear it in silence, but among his many other complaints, he lamented in these words: ‘I having lived sixty years without a fault, left my home a knight and will return an actor; indeed, I have lived longer than I should have by this one day.’

Et heu! amice, quid non mali affert vita longior? Cui unquam tam firma prosperitas fuit, ut non quandoque variaverit et quasi vivendo senuerit? Senescunt homines, senescunt fortune, senescunt fame hominum, senescunt denique humana omnia; quodque aliquando non credidi, ad extremum animi senescunt, quamvis immortales, verumque fit illud Cordubensis: «Longius evum destruit ingentes animos». Non quod animi senium mors sequatur, sed discessus a corpore resolutioque illa, quam cernimus et que vulgo mors dicitur, et est mors corporis profecto, non animi. Senuit ecce refrixitque animus meus. Nunc experior senex quod iuvenis inexpertus et pastorium canens dixi: «Quid vivere longum fert homini?». Quo enim ante hos non multos annos hec tulissem animo? quibus nisibus obstitissem? Crede michi, bellum grave inter ignorantiam et ignorantiam fuisset. Nunc senem invadere eo turpius quo tutius; tollo manum, et mea illorum cedit ignorantie. Certe ego, quasi presagiens quid michi restaret, nunquam sine compassione quadam Laberii historiam legi; qui, cum vitam omnem honesta militia exegisset, sexagenarius ad extremum, Iulii Cesaris blanditiis ac precibus, que de ore principum armate prodeunt, productus in scenam, de romano equite factus est mimus. Quam iniuriam ipse quidem non tacitus tulit, imo multis interque alia his questus est verbis: «Ergo, bis tricenis annis actis sine nota, eques romanus lare egressus meo, domum revertar mimusque: nimirum hoc die uno plus vixi, michi quam vivendum fuit!».