Martial, : the twelve books of Epigrams,.

MARTIAL'S EPIGRAMS
How hot your toga seems, how high
To heavy feet the Coelian!
For me such ills are past, for I
Am just a country gentleman;
And here in Bilbilis, that yields
Rich gold and iron, lies my home,
Gaily I till Boterdum's fields
(How strange our names must sound in Rome!)
All night I sleep, and steal from day
Three hours or more; for those arrears
Long overdue would I repayThe debt that ran for thirty years.
The toga is an unknown thing,
And, should I ask new clothes to wear,
'Tis likely that my slave would bring
The cover from an old armchair.
Then blazing oak-logs welcome me,
The forest skirts my pleasant cot,
Which cook (my bailiff's wife is she)
Has crowned with many a hissing pot.
My close-shorn bailiff I receive;
The boys, be thinks, their duty shirk:
He's jealous and he wants my leave
To crop their locks and make them work.
My keeper next, a comely bov,
His beauty would delight your eye.
This is the life I now enjoy
Thus ever would I live and die.
XIX
THE PICNAIC
LIGHT refreshments at the Baths we see Aemilius buying;
So when he says he's dining out, we know he isn't lying.
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