Martial, : the twelve books of Epigrams,.

BOOK THREE

XCIX
TO THE COBBLER PARVENU
NAY, why resent the jest I made?
Your anger pray subdue;
I only pointed at your trade,
Good cobbler, not at you.
Let not the harmless line I wrote
Your enmity provoke;
You slit a gladiator's throatMay I not crack a joke?
C
A BOON FROM HEA VEN
THE rain at midday, when I sent to you,
Must needs have soaked both book and bearer through.
How excellently timed! The sky no doubt
Sent down its flood to wash my blunders out.

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