Martial, : the twelve books of Epigrams,.

BOOK FOUR

LXXXIV
NON est in populo nec urbe tota
A se Thaida qui probet fututam,
Cum multi cupiant rogentque multi.
Tam casta est, rogo, Thais? immo fellat.
* LXXXV
TO PONTICUS
YOUR guests' cups are glass, but your own's alabaster,
And so we can't see what wine's served to the master.
* LXXXVI
TO HIS BOOK
IF you desire to please an Attic taste,
I warn you to Apollinaris haste,
And try to win him, for you will not find
A man more learned or a man more kind.
If he shall take you to his heart and lips,
You need not fear base jealousy's eclipse,
Nor will you serve, like a condemned man's sheet,
To wrap up mackerel in every street.
But if he frowns, then you must take your way
And lie exposed on the fishmonger's tray,
That salted herrings in you may be tied,
And children scrawl upon your other side.
* LXXXVII
TO FABULLUS
YOUR Bassa continually has by her seat
A baby; she calls it her popsy and sweet.
And yet she's not partial to children I find;
The reason? Poor Bassa is troubled with wind.
133