Martial, : the twelve books of Epigrams,.

MARTIAL'S EPIGRAMS

LXVI
THE COUNTRY LIFE
LINUS, the country ever was your home,
How cheap that life, how costly ours in Rome!
You shake the creases of your toga out,
Say once a month. A single suit, no doubt,
Will last ten seasons ere its work be doneThough at the first 'twas not a costly one;
Your woods provide a boar, your fields a hare!
To meet your simple needs; for richer fare
You beat the copse for thrushes, and of fish
Your river yields you freely many a dish.
No costly wines imported from afar
You ever need to fill your Samian jar;
No slave from dainty Greece doth call you lord,
But home-bred clowns attend your rustic board;
From fire and drought your house and lands are free,
You never lost or risked a ship at sea;
At knuckle-bones you stake a nut or two
But keep the guileful dice-box far from you;
Your mother too, whose passion was to hoard,
Left you a million, yet you can't afford
To spend or give-'Tis gone, so you aver.
Untouched, yet gone? You are a conjurer.
* LXVII
'RICH TO HIIMSELF, BUT TO HIS COM1RA.DES POOR'
GAURUS, a poor but ancient friend,
Said to the praetor-' Will you lend
One thousand to me, for my three
Will then a sum sufficient be
That in the circus I may take my seat,
And as a knight our Emperor duly greet.'
To him the praetor answer made'I cannot help you, I'm afraid;
For to my jockeys I bestow
More than the sum you say you owe.'
Shame on that thankless purse, I fain would cry;
You give to horses-and to knights deny.
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