Martial, : the twelve books of Epigrams,.

MARTIAL'S EPIGRAMS

XCIV
WITH A BASKET OF APPLES
NOT like Pheacia's are my trees,
No guardian dragons turn about them;
Nomentum has no need of these,
Her orchards are secure without them.
The prowling thieves my fruits eschew,
For all the season through they harden.
The autumn spoils I send to you
Were harvested in Covent Garden!
XCV
INFANTEM tibi uir, tibi, Galla remisit adulter.
Hi, puto, non dubie se futuisse negant.
* XCVI
TO AVITUS
You wonder why I, who in Rome have grown old,
Should still yearn for Salo and Tagus' rich gold,
And ever of far-distant lands sing the charms,
Desiring the fields of their opulent farms.
Well, I long for the place where a little supplies
All you need, and each cottage contains luxuries.
Here a farm means expense, there its owner it pays
Here a poor stingy fire, but there a bright blaze.
Here hunger costs money and shops your purse drain;
There your table is stocked from your own rich domain.
Here four or more gowns in one summer wear through
There one will suffice for four autumns to go.
Fie then on your patrons. The country affords
Such wealth as you ne'er will obtain from proud lords.
XCVII
DISAPPOINT.1MENT
Now all was done-the funeral pyre
Was built and ready for the fire;
His wife-fast fell the tears from herHad bought the spices and the myrrh;
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