Martial, : the twelve books of Epigrams,.

MARTIAL'S EPIGRAMS

Accept all the pearls that in India rest,
And the wealth that the phoenix conceals in his nest,
Accept the wet purple that Tyrians store,
Accept all the world-but in promise, no more.
XVII
TO MA.4 CER
'Tis vain my Muse that you refuse your seasonable wit;
And so to do is lawless too, since Macer asks for it;
A quip, a jest will please him best-no solemn verses, prayFor he complains your merry strains have ceased for many
a day;
Reports, indeed, he ought to read as guardian of the roads;
0 Appian Way, what will you say if he reads heavy odes?
XVIII
ON.MA4 RIUS
HE never entertains nor gives to any,
He never lends, he has not got a penny;
Though barren his regard, men strive to win it;
Your toga, Rome, has many a fool within it.
* XIX
TO PLINY
Go now, my Muse, and take this screed
For learned Plinius to read:
It is not wise nor yet discreet
But still it has a spice of wit.
Short is the way; just climb the height
Across Suburra till you sight
Spray-sprinkled Orpheus 'mid the throng
Of beasts enraptured with his song,
And by his side the eagle bold
That bore the boy to Jove of old,
And so to Pedo's modest home,
Its frieze bird graven, you will come.
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