Martial, : the twelve books of Epigrams,.

BOOK TWELVE

Must 1 escort you till my toes shall peer
Through broken shoes, or face in desperation
The sudden storm (one's slave is never near
In such a case) to win the invitation
Your servant whispers in my frozen ear?
Your dinner too? I'd rather face starvation;
You get a province, I a dinner? Nay,
For equal work let us have equal pay.
XXVII
A LATRONIBUS esse te fututam
Dicis, Saenia: sed negant latrones.
XXVIII
TO CINNA
I DRAIN but a cup, while you empty a beaker;
And yet you complain that your tipple is weaker.
XXIX
HERMOGENES
MASSA was bold in stealing gold-and yet Hermogenes,
Our napkin thief, in my belief, surpasses him with ease;
You watch his wrist and seize his fist, or tie it up or knot it,
And yet anon, your napkin's gone-Hermogenes has got it!
So Iris may charm rain away, though heavy storm-clouds
lower,
Or stags at will draw serpents chill, by their mysterious power;
The arena's crowd once cried aloud to save a man alive
And kerchiefs waved-ere he was saved, Hermogenes got five;
When in his place to start a race the praetor had to stop,
His kerchief white was gone from sight, ere it had time to
drop;
The folk of Rome now leave at home their kerchiefs, for they
dread
Hermogenes who, lacking these, takes table-cloths instead;
If none be there he'll even dare to steal more bulky things,
Though tightly stitched he's oft unhitched the sofa coverings;
In summer's heat the sun may beat on people at the shows;
Despite the glare, if he be there, away the awning goes;
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