Martial, : the twelve books of Epigrams,.

MARTIAL'S EPIGRAMS

LXII
A BAD OMEN
You write on the back of your paper, 'tis wrong,
A thing of ill omen to do;
For how can you wonder the genius of song
Is turning his back upon you?
* LXIII
TO AULUS
You are courting Alexis and Thestylus too,
And my Hyacinthus you're ready to woo.
You're a true poet-lover, of that there's no doubt,
For a poet's pet fancy you always smell out.
* LXIV
TO CLYTUS
EIGHT times, Clytus, in each year
Birthday gifts to you we bear.
Every month save three or four
Heralds in your natal hour.
Though your cheeks may smoother be
Then a stone worn by the sea,
And your hair more black withal
Than a mulberry ripe to fall;
Though you're softer far than down
Or new cheese, and though you own
Breasts as round and full as those
Virgin brides keep for their spouse;
Yet to us you seem quite worn
With old age, more often born
Than King Priam was of yore
Or the chief of Pylos' shore.
Prithee, cease, this thievish play,
In one year have one birthday.
Or if you don't stop your fun
I shall call you ' No man's son.
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