Martial, : the twelve books of Epigrams,.

MARTIAL'S EPIGRAMS

Rob, plunder, hoard: your wealth you must resign.
What though with yellow gold your coffers shine,
And bulky ledgers tell of thousands lent!
Your heir will swear you have not left a cent.
And when upon your bed of stone you lie,
While paper-fed your funeral pyre burns high,
Your mourning son will his sad loss assuage
By taking the first night your favourite page.
XLV
ON THE RETURN OF PRISCUS FROM1 SICILY
MY Priscus has returned from Aetna's shore,
A milk-white pearl should mark the happy date;
Strain clear the wine-thy precious essence pour,
Jar that hast known thy hundredth consulate.
When shall my joyous board so celebrate
A feast so dear, and warm my heart once more?
Not till the Cyprian goddess shall restore
My Flaccus, shall I keep a feast so great.
* XLVI
TO CESTUS
THOU whose young beauty is by virtue graced,
Dear Cestus, than Hippolytus more chaste,
Diana fain would have thee at her side
To teach thee how to breast the rushing tide;
And Cybele would let her Atys go,
On thee yet whole her favours to bestow;
Even to Jove thou couldst have given bliss,
If thou hadst known to do aught else but kiss.
Ah happy bride, who thee a man shall make,
And in her arms a groom so tender take.
XLVII
A TRIPLE CLIP
PART of your beard is plucked away, part shorn, part clipped
instead;
Who would believe me should I say you've but a single head?
246