Martial, : the twelve books of Epigrams,.

BOOK THREE
XXX
TO GARGILIANUS
No money doles now patrons give,
You're fed but never feed;
Yet still you try in town to live,
And somehow you succeed.
Your coat is passing vile, 'tis true;
You rent a dingy den;
For these and for your pleasures too
You sponge on other men.
'My costs of living,' so you say,
'Are reasonably small.'
If reason be in question, pray,
Why should you live at all?
* XXXI
TO RUFINUS
You possess, I allow it, wide acres of land,
And your houses in town spacious gardens command,
Many debtors bow low to your full money-chests,
And dishes of gold bear the meat at your feasts.
But don't be too scornful, for Didymus of yore
And to-day Philomelus possesses far more.
XXXII
TO.MA TRONIA
'Tis not your age that makes me cold,
That's no impediment;
But you are something more than old,
You're dead to all intent.
To Hecuba or Niobe
My heart perhaps had warmed,
But not when their humanity
Was utterly transformed.
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