Martial, : the twelve books of Epigrams,.

BOOK NINE

XCVII
JEALOUSY
WITH jealousy he's like to burstWhat have I done to rouse him soUntil he cracks with rage accurst?
Rome reads my books-that is the worst
Of all offence to him-and lo!
With jealousy he's like to burst;
But other grudges he has nursed,
I'm pointed out in street and show
Until he cracks with rage accurst
Because the grant is not reversed
That Titus gave me long ago.
With jealousy he's like to burst,
Not yet my crimes are all rehearsed;
My house and farm annoy my foe
Until he cracks with rage accurst;
He'd ban my friendships if he durst;
My dinners give him bitter woe;
With jealousy he's like to burst.
Men love me, spite has not aspersed
My fame-that makes his gall to flow
Until he cracks with rage accurst;
He's near to bursting-let him burst
XCVIII
THE LAST RESOURCE
ALL round the vintage failed; upon the trade
Ruin marched quick-the saving rain yet quicker:
Logwood and Company I hear have made
A hundred hogsheads of their usual liquor.
* XCIX
TO ATTICUS
ANTONIUS loves my humble verses, friend,
If to his letter we may credence lend;
The glory of our wise Tolosa he,
Child of repose and bland felicity.
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