Martial, : the twelve books of Epigrams,.

BOOK ONE

Trust not a fortune that may ne'er appear,
Too oft we find that winged joys are flown;
But care and linked toils are ever here.
Nay, with both hands, we needs must grasp delight
And hold her to our heart while yet we may:
Yet even thus she oft doth mock our might
And from the fond embrace doth glide away.
True wisdom saith not ' Life shall soon be bright ';
To-morrow is too late-Live thou to-day.
XVI
OLLA PODRIDA
GOOD work you'll find, some poor, and much that's worse,
It takes all sorts to make a book of verse.
XVII
DECLINED WITH THANKS
You say, 'There's need of men to plead';
You bid me don the gown;
There's need, I vow, of men to ploughBut must I turn a clown?
* XVIII
TO TUCCA
WHY with this new cheap Vatican your old Falernian
smother?
What wrong has the good liquor done, what benefit the other?
Your guests perhaps deserve to die: for them I do not care.
But 'tis a shame that all must blame to slay a vintage rare.
XIX
THE LAST STRAW
FOUR teeth, I think, were left to you
Until, my ancient dame,
A fit of coughing shot out two,
A second did the same.
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