Martial, : the twelve books of Epigrams,.

BOOK SIX

* XXXI
TO CHARIDEMUS
You know your good lady has got an affair
With a doctor, yet at it you wink.
You won't need a fever to die with that pair:
Toss off what they give you to drink.
* XXXII
OTHO AT BEDRIACUM
SHE wavered yet, the fury of our fray,
And wanton Otho still could win the day;
But cursing war with all its price of blood,
He pierced his heart and perished as he stood.
Let Cato's life than Caesar's greater be:
But in their death is Otho first or he?
* XXXIII
TROP D'AMOUR
YOUNG Nancy was once the most happy of men,
But now he's quite weary of life;
Thefts, runaway slaves, fires, mourning and death,
And worst thing of all-a fond wife.
XXXIV
A RECKONING OF KISSES
GIVE me fond kisses. 'Nay, how many more? '
You ask? Ah, count the ripples of the seas,
The myriad shells that strew the ocean's shore,
Fare to Hymettus' hill and tell the bees,
What time, unhoped for, Caesar meets her view
The plaudits of all Rome, canst reckon these?
What Lesbia gave her bard should not appease
My thirst. Who numbers kisses needs but few.
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