Martial, : the twelve books of Epigrams,.

BOOK FIVE
* XLVI
TO DIADUMENUS
I DO not care for kisses,
Save when we battle wage;
For me the greatest bliss is
To see you burn with rage.
I strike, then fondle: so, my dear,
I neither have your love nor fear.
XLVII
SHORT CO.llMM1ONS
HE never dines at home? 'tis true no doubtUnless he's given a meal he goes without.
* XLVIII
THE VOW
WHAT will Love not compel! Though Pudens murmured
'No,'
Yet he did not prevent young Encolpos, and so
He cut off his hair, while his master wept sore
And complained, like Apollo and Phaethon of yore;
Than Hylas more fair or Achilles, when he
Rejoiced from his mother's love-locks to be free;
In return for the gift may he beardless remain,
And though his hair's short seem a boy once again.
XLIX
TO LABIENUS
You sat alone, yet I declare
I thought I saw three people there,
It was your head deceived me quite,
Somehow I could not count it right,
For it was decked on either side
With locks a boy might own with pride,
But there's a vast expanse between
Where not a single hair is seen.
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