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Link to an image of this page  Link to an image of this page  [D7v p62]



Plantula quae veteri de stirpe sub arboris umbra
Pullulat: haud temere ad frugem procera ferendam
Pervenit: ast imis humilis radicibus haeret.
Sic puer umbrosa patris nutritus in aede,
Inque sinu matris, vix unquam se arduus effert.
Vix unquam frugi est. Ad claros crescere honores
Avertens lucem quem non sinit umbra parentum.
Sed sedet usque domi ignavus, producere fructus
Qui poterat laetos, alium translatus in orbem.
Namque altae frondes, & rami matris opacant,
Crescentique adimunt foetus: uruntque ferentem.
Ut necat ergo suos arbos umbrosa stolones.
Blanda Patrum segnes facit indulgentia natos.
Mollior & matrum nutritio, frangit alumnos.

The little plant from the old stock that springs up in the shade of the tree does not easily grow tall to bear fruit, but clings humble and close to the deep roots of its parent. Like it, no boy brought up in the shady house of his father and the lap of his dear mother ever raised himself to any height. He’s hardly ever of much use. The parental shadow (keeping the light off) prevents him from growing up to illustrious honours. But he sits, a coward, in the house, who might instead have brought forth rich fruit, planted in another climate. FOR the high leafy branches and the boughs of his mother obscure him and deprive him as he grows of offspring and burn him as he bears. Therefore, just as the tree strangles its own weak offshoots, the loving indulgence of parents makes idiots of children, and mothers’ care, if it is too soft, breaks those it nourishes.

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