Martial, : the twelve books of Epigrams,.

BOOK TWELVE
* LXXXIII
KNOW THYSELF
FABIANUS, the terror of men about town,
Was wont once at hernia to jeer,
While, if you were ruptured, the noisiest clown
Could not match the insults you would hear.
But he saw his own figure at bath yesterday,
And now on that subject he's nothing to say.
* LXXXIV
TO THE PAGE-BOY, POLYTIMIUS
I THOUGHT it a pity to cut your long hair,
But now I am glad that I granted your prayer.
Like to this was young Pelops when for his fair bride
His ringlets clipped short showed his ivory side.
LXXXV
PEDICONIBUS OS olere dicis.
Hoc si, sicut ais, Fabulle, uerum est,
Quid tu credis olere cunnilingis?
LXXXVI
TRIGINTA tibi sunt pueri totidemque puellae:
Una est nec surgit mentula. Quid facies?
LXXXVII
ON COTTA
ONCE to excuse his lack of shoes, his servant he'd condemn,
And say his slaves, the careless knaves, were always losing
them.
-His slaves forsooth! In simple truth he had but one, no
more,
And he must shout and rush about as though he were a scoreA further plan now-guileful man!-his cunning executes;
Barefoot he goes, we may suppose, lest he should lose his
boots!
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