Martial, : the twelve books of Epigrams,.

MARTIAL'S EPIGRAMS

A little while his learned scrolls lay by
While to your lord I read my poetry.
So great Maecenas, who could Virgil hear,
Let Marsus' dark Melaenis charm his ear.
XXX
THE EXOTIC LOVER
CAELIA, you love a Teuton swain,
An Asiatic stirs your pity,
For you swart Indians cross the main,
Copts flock to you from Pharos' city.
A Jew, a Scythian cavalier,
Can please you-but I can't discover
Why you, a Roman, are austere
To none except a Roman lover.
XXXI
COUNTRY PRODUCE!
THESE cackling fowls and eggs I send you,
These Chian figs grown ripe in tempered heat,
The shaggy kid for which his dam doth bleat,
The cabbage white with rime of frozen dew
That hath not marred the olives' tender hue,
Think you that all are from my country-seat?
Nay, Regulus, you will not understand,
Naught in my starveling field could you descry
Save me; far Umbria doth your need supply
And rich suburban gardens nigh at hand:
What Tusculum doth yield at your demand
I hunt through all the market-place to buy.
* XXXII
TO A TTICUS
OF an eloquent race you're reviving the name,
And let not your house lie forgotten by fame:
Minerva's good votaries ever attend you
And sages delight their wise leisure to lend you.
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