Martial, : the twelve books of Epigrams,.

BOOK TWELVE

* XCIII
THE GO-BETWEEN
LABULLA'S invented a curious play,
Her lover to kiss when her lord's in the way.
She kisses her zany a hundred times over,
And wet from her mouth he goes straight to her lover,
Who adds a few more from his own eager lips,
And back to his sly smiling mistress he slips.
And so it goes on. But between you and me,
What a very big zany the husband must be!
XCIV
THE COPYIST
I TOOK to Epic; you began it too;
I ceased, because I would not vie with you.
The tragic buskin then my Muse puts on;
Forthwith the robe of tragedy you don.
I thought to tune the sweet Horatian lyre;
You snatched the plectrum, seized with like desire.
Satire I tried; then Satire was your aim.
I sang light elegies; you did the same.
I sought with simple epigrams to charm;
And you would rob me of my humble palm.
Pray curb this greed; say what you don't affect,
And leave to me one style that you reject!
XCV
MUSAEI pathicissimos libellos,
Qui certant Sybariticis libellis,
Et tinctas sale pruriente chartas
Instanti lege Rufe; sed puella
Sit tecum tua, ne thalassionem
Indicas manibus libidinosis
Et fias sine femina maritus.
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