Martial, : the twelve books of Epigrams,.

BOOK TEN

Bier, urn, and grave were ready too,
And bearers all in order due;
At the last gasp old Numa still
Had just the strength to sign his will
With me as heir-then back he fellAnd died? Oh no, he got quite well!
* XCVIII
TO PUBLIUS
WHEN your page is more wanton than young Ganymede,
And is far better dressed, as by all is agreed,
Than your sister or wife or your daughter or mother,
As they lie on the couches beside one another;
Do you want me instead at your ivories to stare,
Or seem for your lamps and your tables to care.
If you don't want to think of your guests any harm,
Let the pages who serve us be fresh from the farm,
Unkempt, underhung, without manners at table,
The sons of your herd reeking still of the stable.
Your tastes are betrayed by the look in your eyes;
For minions and morals do not harmonise.
* XCIX
ON A PORTRAIT OF JULIUS RUFUS
PREFIXED TO HIS 'SATIRES'
HAD Socrates a Roman been,
As Julius Rufus here he's seen.
C
ON A PLAGIARIST
To mix with yours my verse you steal,
The knavish trick is far from deft;
The easy contrast will reveal
The theft.
Think you a lion's lordly roar
Resembles the hyena's howl,
Or would you with the eagle soar,
Poor owl?
33I