Martial, : the twelve books of Epigrams,.

BOOK TEN

* LXXVIII
TO MACER
To far Salonae now your way you wend,
Whom loyalty and love of right attend,
And power that never seeks its purse to fill,
But has fair virtue for its handmaid still.
0 happy dwellers in that golden land,
Your ruler will return with empty hand,
And you with tearful joy on his last day
Will seek pretexts to make him longer stay.
But I, who long to see you once again,
Go now my way to Gaul, and savage Spain:
But on each page from Tagus' wave I write,
My pen shall Macer's honoured name indite.
And so when you peruse the bards of old,
May I a favoured place among them hold,
And of that goodly band of poets see
None save Catullus taken before me.
* LXXIX
THE RIVALS
TORQUATUS acquired a mansion near town;
Otacilius at once bought a plot for his own.
Torquatus built baths that with marble shine bright;
Otacilius set up a bath-pot that night.
Torquatus laid out laurel-groves for his ease;
Otacilius planted a hundred nut-trees.
When Torquatus was consul, the other became
A town mayor, and thought that the posts were the same.
Like the frog in the fable who puffed till he burst,
Otacilius won't let Torquatus be first.
LXXX
THE CONNOISSEUR
WHEN Eros weeps in blank despair
To see a cup of Myrrine ware,
Fair slaves, a citrus table-top,
The very pick of all the shop,
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