Martial, : the twelve books of Epigrams,.

BOOK NINE

Phoebus and Dian there he saw recline
By Hercules and duteous Mercury,
And said, ' Ye built my fane of old in Crete;
But Caesar is more dutiful than ye.'
XXXV
THE NEWSM1ONGER
THESE are the tricks that you devise to pay for hospitality,
You forge a hundred silly lies and state them as reality,
You know King Ferdinand's design discussed in far Bulgaria,
And what reserves are on the Rhine, their numbers in Bavaria,
Haig's last dispatches you have conned while still undried
the ink of them,
You see the victor laurels donned before the soldiers think of
them.
You tell the Tigris' rise in feet, and what the flood has meant
to us,
How many pounds of maize or meat America has sent to us.
The next Nobel awards you know, and all the facts that
guided them,
You give the winners' names although the Trust has not
decided them.
Give up this foolish fashion pray, you get but small regard
from it,
And if you grace my board to-day, remember 'News' is
barred from it.
* XXXVI
TO EARINOS
THE Phrygian youth, delight of the other Jove,
Had seen our Emperor's darling from above
With hair new-shorn, and cried, ' Great ruler, now
Grant me what Caesar doth his boy allow.
Down's on my cheeks concealed beneath these locks,
And Juno calls me man and jeers and mocks.'
To him-' Miy sweetest boy,' the Sire replied,
'Your wish by facts and not by me is denied.
Our Caesar has a thousand boys like thee;
His palace scarce can hold their company.
But if shorn hair should give thee a man's face,
I should have no one left my board to grace.'
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