Nothing.
Neither gold, nor  the world's  the million cities,
neither the wealth of Thebes, that Homer sings, I desire.
Just my glass clean and round, always filled with fine good wine,
to cool my lips in this endless spring. 

Around me, my beloved ones to sing and drink, 
and lots of men working in the vineyards.
Such prosperity I yearn.
Holding my wine glass I give no penny
for the country-squires and their opulence. 
 

Macedonios Ypatos
6th century A.D.