Martial, : the twelve books of Epigrams,.

BOOK TEN

With what you are be satisfied,
Nor let ambition range;
Contented still whate'er betide
And caring naught for change.
Pray not for death, nor yet feel fear
When the last hour of life draws near.
XLVIII
THE INVITATION
THE priests proclaim the hour at Isis' shrine,
When guard is changed 'tis time to bathe and dine
Cool are the baths too hot an hour ago,
At the sixth hour with Nero's heat they glow;
Friends, are you ready? There are five of you,
My horse-shoe couch holds seven-Bring Lupus, too.
My bailiff's wife has gathered mallows light
And garden treasures for the feast to-night.
Sliced leeks there are, dwarf lettuce cool and smooth,
Rocket to stimulate and mint to soothe,
Anchovies crowned with egg and dressed with rue,
And pickled pork with tunny wine, will do
To whet the appetite, and following these
A kid the ravening wolf had hoped to seize,
Rissoles that need no carving-knife are there,
Spring cabbages and beans the labourer's fare,
A fowl, a ham that twice has served: and last
Sweet apples come to crown the whole repast.
Then as to home-grown wine, I know 'tis clear,
Free from all crust, for it was made this year;
Gay jest and kindly wit shall this beget
With naught to bring repentance or regret;
Safely we'll gossip of the racing season,
The cup shall stir no guest of mine to treason.
XLIX
TO COTTA
IN cups of amethystine hue
Was rich Opimian poured for you,
'Twas common Sabine raw and new
You gave to me, and said,
'Wilt have a cup of gold for it '?
No, I will not, for I submit
A golden cup is hardly fit
For drink as dull as lead.
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