Martial, : the twelve books of Epigrams,.

BOOK SIX

* XCIII
A DIFFICULT TASK
THAIS smells even worse than a fuller's old crock,
When, set in the street, it succumbs to a knock,
A he-goat when rutting, a lion's foul breath,
A skin of a dog done by tanners to death,
A chicken gone rotten while still in the shell,
A jar filled with sauce that has not kept too well.
So wishing somehow to disguise this foul reek,
Whenever she comes to the baths in the week,
She's covered with unguent and vinegared flour
And layers of powder at least three or four.
But spite of these dodges, and do what she will,
The fact is that Thais of Thais smells still.
XCIV
ON CALPETIANUS
WHENE'ER he dines he's served on gold in state,
In town or out, in company, alone,
Aye at an inn! Has he no meaner plate?
No, he has none; for this is not his own.

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