Martial, : the twelve books of Epigrams,.

BOOK EIGHT

LXXVII
TO LIBER
IF friends could choose, so dearly loved art thou,
Liber, unfading roses should be thine,
Short-lived are ours, yet bind therewith thy brow,
And let thy locks with rarest unguents shine,
Crown high the cups with dark Falernian wine,
And follow love with all his dear delight;
Though brief the span that grudging fates assign,
Joy thus may lengthen it in their despite.
* LXXVIII
ON THE GA3MES GIVEN BY STELLA IN
DOMIITIA N'S HONOUR
SUCH games as might the gods' own victory grace,
Or Bacchus celebrate with smiling face,
Now for thy northern triumph Stella gives
And still unworthy of his love believes.
For him suffice not Hermus' golden sands
Nor Tagus with the wealth of western lands.
Each day hath its own gift; the bounteous cord
Rich plunder to the people doth afford.
Now sportive tokens fall in sudden cloud
And give the arena victims to the crowd:
Now birds, no longer mangled, come by lot
Unharmed to those who have the ticket got.
Why should I tell of prizes three times ten,
Such as the consuls' games scarce give to men.
For there is one thing that surpasses all;
Thou, Sire, art here to watch thy festival.
LXXIX
THE CONTRAST
YOUR lady friends are ill to see,
All old or ugly as can be,
And in their company you go
To banquet, play, and portico;
This hideous background you prepare
To seem, by contrast, young and fair.
257 R