UNIVERSITY OF VICTORIA LIBRARY

BROADWAY

TRANSLATIONS

“ Age cannot wither her , nor custom stale Her infinite variety

TO

A. E. HOUSMAN

“ To whom this book as honour due ? Surely Apollo’s bays belong,

In Latin and in English song,

To you.”

Bvoabway translations

MARTIAL

THE TWELVE BOOKS OF

EPIGRAMS

Translated by

J. A. POTT, M.A.

and

F. A. WRIGHT, M.A.

CLASSICAL DEPARTMENT, BIUKBECK COLLEGE

With an Introduction by the latter

LONDON

GEORGE ROUTLEDGE y SONS LTD. NEW YORK: E. P. DUTTON fcf CO.

UNIVERSITY OF VlCTORiAj

! iRtUAHY

PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN IiY THE EDINBURGH PRESS, g AND ix YOUNG STREET, EDINBURGH

PREFACE

At the time of his lamented death in 1920, John Arthur Pott was engaged on a complete translation, in verse and prose, of the Epigrams of Martial. The manuscript, about half completed, was left to his friend, Mr W. R. Smale of Radley College, and he, after reading it through, and in part revising it, has decided that, for the moment, the publication of the verse renderings only is advisable.

In memory of an accomplished poet and scholar I have endeavoured to finish his work to the best of my ability, and have added a short Introduction, my own versions being marked with an asterisk.

F. A. W.

111

CONTENTS

PAGE

Preface ....... iii

Introduction

I Life of Martial . . v

II The Epigrams . . ... viii

III Martial as Poet . . . . . xii

The Epigrams Book I .						n
55	II .			•			43
55	Ill .			•			75
55	IV .			•			107
55	V .			•			137
55	VI .			'		•	167
55	VII .			•			197
55	VIII .			•			231
55	IX .			•			261
55	X .		#	•			. 299
55	XI .	•	•	•	•		• 337
55	XII .	.	.	.	•	.	• 37i

IV

INTRODUCTION

I

LIFE OF MARTIAL

Marcus Valerius Martialis was born about the year a.d. 40, during the short reign of the Emperor Caius, in the Spanish town of Bilbilis. The name by which he is now commonly known was probably due to the accident of his birth occurring on the first of March : ‘ Marcus Valerius ’ forms part of the Roman dress which his countrymen soon after the time of Julius Caesar had so readily adopted. In the first century of our era Spain passed through one of those periods of intellectual activity which diversify the torpor wherein that strange land normally reposes, and Martial is but one of the group of brilliant Spaniards who are among the chief glories of the silver age of Latin literature. Two of the galaxy, the critic Quintilian, bom at Calagurris a.d. 40, and the poet Lucan, born at Cordova a.d. 39, were his close con- temporaries, and when, abandoning Bilbilis and the rushing Salo, he came to Italy to seek his fortune in 63, Seneca had reached the highest point of his long and magnificent career and seemed all-powerful at Rome. As a humble dependent of the Senecas, and through them of the Pisos, the most literary of all the great Roman families, Martial made his first entry into Roman life ; and when in 65 b.c. on the discovery of the conspiracy Seneca and Piso were involved in a common ruin, the young stranger from Spain shared their downfall in his small degree, and was thrown upon his own resources. For many years existence for him must have been as hard a struggle as it was for Charles Dickens in his youth, and both writers owe much of their power to the forced realization of the most important fact in life, that a man must in some way or another get enough to eat. Being a Roman citizen Martial had a certain value as a client — if he could find a patron willing to employ him — but a

v

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

client’s pay, whether it took the form of rations or dole, was almost as scanty and precarious as that which a sandwich-man or a ‘ super ’ earns to-day. Moreover, competition in that particular branch of social service was excessively severe, for anyone then could be a client just as anyone now can be a clerk : there were only three requisites, a respectable appearance, a decent suit of clothes, and a dislike for hard manual labour. Prob- ably it was his pen that saved Martial from starvation, and the couplets that now appear as Books Thirteen and Fourteen of the Epigrams, tags written to order, like our cracker mottoes, for the presents that were usually given at the Saturnalia, performed at least one useful function ; they kept our poet alive. Moreover they gained for him some sort of reputation, and when the Colosseum was opened by the Emperor Titus in the year a.d. 8o a publisher was found ready to risk his first small book ‘ Liber Spectaculorum ’, a set of thirty- two short poems describing the games, the contests, and all the other wonders of the great building.

‘ The Spectacles ’ mark the turning-point in Martial’s fortunes. Though they are of small literary value they had a considerable success, and, attracting imperial notice, brought to Martial such privileges as accompanied the grant of ‘ father’s right ’, ins trium liber ovum. His social position was now assured and his poetical fame also quickly increased, so that he was able in a.d. 84 to publish and sell the collection of his gift verses which we now possess. By the beginning of 86 he was ready for a more ambitious flight and published the first two books of the Epigrams, mostly composed of poems referring to the reigns of Vespasian and Titus. After this date he must have been in fairly easy circumstances, for he was raised to equestrian rank, acquired a house on the Quirinal, and a small estate at Nomentum, had many rich friends, and always remained a bachelor. But old habit was strong and he is never tired of enlarging on his poverty and the discomforts of life at Rome. On one occasion, at least, he retired for a time to Forum Corneli in Gaul, and there published the third book of the Epigrams in a.d. 87. He soon, however, returned to the capital again and brought out Books IV, V and VI, in the next three successive years. Book VII announces the coming return of Domitian from his Sarmatian campaigns, and must therefore have appeared about the

vi

INTRODUCTION

end of 92, while the next three books came out at yearly intervals. The death of Domitian decided Martial to leave Rome for good, and after sending the Emperor Nerva a selection from Books X and XI he finally returned to Bilbilis in 98. A Spanish lady, Marcella, gave him an estate, and there he ended his days, his last volume, Book XII, being mostly written in Spain, and published late in a.d. ioi. The date of his death can be approxi- mately fixed by a letter of Pliny the younger, written 104, which is so characteristic of that very superior person that it is worth quoting in full :

“ I was very grieved,” Pliny writes to his friend, Cornelius Priscus, “ to hear of Martial’s death. He was a talented fellow, of shrewd and vigorous understanding, his writings well seasoned with wit and sarcasm, and yet good-humoured withal. I did him the compliment of providing his travelling money when he left Rome : that I owed both to our friendship and to some trifles of verse which he wrote about me. It was an ancient custom to honour and reward those writers who sang the praises of individuals or states ; but in our times this, like many other excellent habits, has gone completely out of use. Since we have ceased to do praiseworthy deeds, we think that praise itself is silly. You ask what are the verses for which I thus repaid him. I would refer you to his book, but as a matter of fact I remember some of them : if you like these, you may look up the others later. He is addressing his Muse and tells her to seek my house on the Esquiline, and to knock respectfully.

‘ But do not with strong liquor flown Knock at a time that’s not your own.

His days to study he must give Composing speeches, that shall live With Tully’s best, to please the ears And win a verdict from the Peers.

More safe ’twill be to go a-calling If lamps are lit and night is falling.

That is your hour, when reigns the rose,

When brows are wet, and Bacchus flows ;

For when the Wine God wildly rages Stern Catos well may read my pages.’

“ As he wrote thus about me was I not right then to speed him on his way, and am I not right now to mourn for a true friend’s death ? He gave me what he could ; he would have given more if he had been able. And yet

vii

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

what greater gift can a man receive than glory and praise and eternity of fame ? You may say that Martial’s verses will not gain eternity : perhaps they will not ; but he wrote them with the supposition that they would.”

II

THE EPIGRAMS

The chief value of Martial’s Epigrams, disregarding for the moment their literary excellence, lies in the picture they give us of Roman society towards the end of the Erst century a.d., that period in the world’s history which, beyond all others, bears the closest resemblance to our own times. It is a picture drawn by a realist, and in its mingling of light and shade far more convincing than the lurid colours and unrelieved blackness with which Juvenal and Tacitus present us. Martial is a Sancho Panza who sees things as they are : the satirist and the historian have more likeness to the mad knight, and fired by their righteous indignation tilt as blindly against the established order of the Empire as Don Quixote did against his giant windmills. Their moral earnestness is certainly impressive, and as characters they are doubtless more deserving of our esteem than is the easy-going and pleasure-loving epigrammatist ; but if we wish to gain a true idea of Rome and Roman life, about the year a.d. 90, it is to the pages of Martial, rather than to Juvenal or Tacitus, that we should turn. Martial has three great advantages over the other two writers : he is good-tempered, while they are soured and disappointed men : he is a Spaniard, to whom the Empire has brought nothing but benefits, while they are Romans who can never forget the time when the world was ruled in the interests of Rome : he is one of the middle class, the great discovery of the new system, while they belong to the official hierarchy which had for centuries enjoyed the doubtful privilege of government.

And so, writing from the outside without temper and without bias, Martial is able to give us a complete panorama of Roman society from top to bottom. At the very summit comes His Most Gracious Majesty, the Emperor Domitian, ' dominus et dens ’, as he insisted on being called by the reluctant senate, whose shadowy

viii

INTRODUCTION

powers he refused to recognize. ‘ His most gracious majesty ’ — the words make an appropriate inscription for the portrait of Domitian that Martial gives us We see, not at all a cruel and detestable tyrant, ‘ calvus Nero ’, but rather a patriotic, popular, and — strangely enough — a rather Puritanical prince, whose benevolent activities at Rome run on much the same lines as those followed to-day by the London County Council. He curbs the enterprise of the pushing tradesmen who encroach upon the highway with their stalls ; he settles scales of fees, and regulates theatre accommodation ; he offers handsome prizes at the literary and musical competitions which take place in his Alban villa ; he employs a young and deserving architect to build for him a palace which shall be worthy of the world’s capital city ; he keeps a strict watch over the morals of the community, passes laws to protect young children from vicious degradation, endeavours to preserve the sanctity of marriage and family life, and discourages all licen- tiousness in literature, being himself so strict in his regard for propriety that our poet has to be far more careful than is his wont when he is writing for the imperial ear. These are some of the impressions of Domitian’s character that we get from a perusal of the Epigrams, and although Martial is commonly accused of shameless flattery and sycophantic adulation, it is well, for the sake of truth, that we have in him some corrective to the venom of Tacitus’ pen. Domitian had his faults, but for the historian his unforgivable sin was that, being himself something of a realist, he refused to acquiesce any longer in the legal fiction that made the senate ostensibly a co-partner in empire.

Immediately below the Emperor comes the imperial entourage : Crispinus, the commander of the body-

guard ; Regulus, the great orator, Domitian’s most trusted counsellor ; the freedmen, Parthenius, imperial chamberlain, Sextus, librarian, and Entellus, confidential secretary; the architect Rabirius, the butler Euphemus, the cup-bearer Earinos, and the actors Paris and Latinus. On all of these, high and low alike, Martial lavishes his most ingenious flattery, receiving in return such small rewards as the gift of a toga from Parthenius, described with a wealth of hyperbole in Book VIII, xxviii.

Next we have the leading lights of Roman society,

IX

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

political and literary, with nearly all of whom in their capacity of patrons Martial seems to have been acquainted, the word ‘friend ’ in their connection usually rhyming with “ send — me a present ” or “ lend — me some money Among the high officials, generals, administrators, and governors of provinces are Licinius Sura, Domitius Tullus, and his brother Lucanus, the Etrusci father and son, Macer, Avitus, Paulus, Vestinus, and Antonius Primus, the most brilliant commander of the Flavian armies, whose capture of Cremona is described in Tacitus’ Histories. The literary aristocrats include the younger Pliny, Silius Italicus, author of the Punica, the poet Stella and his wife Ianthis, the poetess Sulpicia and her husband Calenus, Frontinus the great authority on aqueducts, and Polla, widow of Lucan. Of contemporary writers Quintilian and Juvenal receive complimentary verses ; Statius alone is never mentioned.

Then follows a less distinguished gathering, men and women of Martial’s own station in life, for whom he shows in many poems a very real and sincere affection. His dearest friend perhaps is his namesake, Julius Martialis, on whose suburban villa he writes one of his most charming pieces ; but he has many other intimates, Quintus Ovidius, his neighbour at Nomentum, the centurion Pudens and his British wife Claudia, Canius Rufus of Gades, husband of the learned Theophila, his fellow poets, Castricus and Cerialis, Faustinus and Flaccus, his compatriots Decianus, Priscus, Licinianus, and Maternus. To all of these he writes with genuine warmth, and for many of them he obviously felt the same tender regard as inspires the three beautiful epigrams on the death of the little slave girl Erotion (V, xxxiv, xxxvii, X, lxi), poems which show that even if Martial was a bachelor and no great respecter of women, he was a true lover of children.

And then we are introduced to the more sordid side of life in the capital, to an anonymous world for whom Martial invents fictitious names — Zoilus, Caecilianus, Postumus, Galla, Lesbia, Gellia — a world consisting chiefly of needy clients and upstart parvenus, of old ladies of excessive temperament and young ladies of easy virtue. There is the captator , the adventurer who tries by flattery and small services to win the good graces of a childless millionaire, and to secure a legacy in his will : the delator , a pernicious rascal who makes a trade

x

INTRODUCTION

of spying on his neighbours and accusing them of some offence against the imperial regime : the recitator, less dangerous than the informer but even more annoying, the amateur poet who insists on boring his friends with recitals of his verses. Every aspect of Rome Martial presents to us. With him we pass through the crowded streets and the long muddy stairways up the hill-sides, along which the white-robed client in the early morning has to trudge his way in order to be present at his patron’s levee. We see the law courts beset by a crowd of litigants and hear the applause and cheers that greet some brilliant effort of eloquence by a great advocate. We visit the baths, public and private, each with its own regular clientele, and watch the masseurs anointing and rubbing down their customers, while sly thieves look for their opportunity to filch some bather’s gown. We sit among the audience in the theatre and smile as Leitus or Oceanus, the two chief ushers, touch some upstart on the shoulder and eject him from the rows of seats reserved for senators and knights. We smell the odour of the circus mingled of the blood of slain animals, the scent of liquid saffron and cinnamon, and the press of the great crowd. And finally we hear all the gossip of the town : the shameful behaviour of the priests of Cybele, the un- fortunate accident that befell an Etruscan at the sacrifice, how one boy was killed by a falling icicle, another by a snake lurking within a hollow statue, how a tame lion mauled the circus attendants, how a hare escaped un- harmed from the arena ; and so on and so on. There is hardly any incident however trivial which will not serve Martial as the subject for an epigram, and he always treats his theme with the lightest wit and the most dexterous skill. He is a realist, and one of the most extreme of that school : he shrinks from nothing, dull, coarse, and disgusting though it be ; and consequently many of his pieces are extremely offensive to a delicate reader. But the blame for them, if blame must be allotted — in this volume they are mostly left in their original Latin — does not rest solely with Martial : part must be assigned to the realistic method, part to the Roman character, and part to life itself.

xi

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

III

MARTIAL AS POET

In the history of the Epigram Martial is indisputably the greatest name. As regards bulk of poems, variety of subject, general interest, and posthumous fame, he easily surpasses all his Greek rivals, while among his own countrymen there is no one who in this particular field can be even compared with him. He is certainly indebted in some degree — and handsomely acknowledges his debt — to Catullus and Ovid for his style ; but if it is possible to improve upon the dainty lightness of the one and the glittering polish of the other, Martial accomplishes that miraculous feat. He is the epigrammatist, and it is largely owing to his predominance that the word ‘ epigram ’ in English bears a somewhat different meaning from that which it has in Greek. Originally an inscrip- tion, whether in verse or in prose, such as might be placed on a tomb, a statue, or a temple offering, it came to mean for the Greeks a short poem having, as Mr Mackail says, “ the compression and conciseness of a real inscrip- tion, highly finished, evenly balanced, simple, lucid.” To this definition most of the pieces in the Greek Anthology answer, but to the wit and point which form the chief essentials of a modern epigram they make little pretension. It is of Martial that the Oxford Dic- tionary is thinking when it says : “ An epigram is a short poem ending in a witty and ingenious turn of thought to which the rest of the composition is intended to lead up.” Martial’s reputation as satirist and wit has indeed rather obscured his more definitely poetical qualities In the Epigrams he confines himself practically to three metres, the elegiac couplet, the hendecasyllabic, and the iambic scazon ; and it is interesting to notice the con- nection that obviously exists between the choice of metre and the writer’s thoughts. Though Martial lived most of his days in Rome, he was in a very genuine sense a lover of the country, of the simple life, and of his own native land. When he is treating of these three subjects and writing rather to please himself than his Roman audience, he is apt to escape from the confined limits of the epigram, and to employ the ‘ limping iambic ’ as his metre. The bizarre effect obtained by the unexpected

xii

INTRODUCTION

spondee at the end of each line probably seemed to him exactly suitable ; for in those days of strained rhetoric and formal antithesis it was an unusual novelty to have simple ideas and to express them in simple language. His model, of course, is the ‘ Sirmio ' of Catullus, and in several pieces he, at least, equals his predecessor. There is the beautiful description (III, lviii) of Faustinus’ farm, and of the suburban retreat of Julius Martialis (IV, lxiv), the outburst on the glories of Spain (IV, lv), and the ecstatic picture of the seaside at Formiae (X, xxx) ; best known of all perhaps the poem on the death of little Erotion (V, xxxvii), with whom compared, ‘inamabilis sciurus et frequens phoenix/ These poems indeed are studded with gems of phrasing — ‘ grandes proborum virgines colonorum ’, ‘ sub urbe possides, famem mundam ’,

‘ caelo perfruitur sereniore ’, * viva sed quies ponti ’, — and they show that Martial had latent in him a vein of imagination not unlike that which Goldsmith worked when he wrote ' The Deserted Village ’.

While the best and longest of the iambic pieces treat of the picturesque, the most striking of the hendeca- syllabics are concerned with personal emotions. Here again Martial follows Catullus in the ‘ Passer ’ poems, but for him the place of Lesbia is taken by male friends, above all by his dear Julius Martialis. To him the three most charming of the series are addressed, the invitation to holiday, with its reminder of the hours — ‘ qui nobis pereunt et imputantur ’ (V, xx) ; the description of the happy life and all that it needs (X, xlvii) ; and the final poem of farewell written in sorrow from Spain — ‘ nulli te facias nimis sodalem \

It would be possible to collect from Martial a small anthology, in which each piece was of high poetical quality, and most of these pieces would be either in iambics or in hendecasyllabics. But this was not the sort of thing that really pleased Martial’s public ; what they wanted was humorous realism, and if the humour was somewhat gross, that was rather a recommendation than a fault. Consequently the large majority of the Epigrams are of the humorous type, and are written in the elegiac metre. Pieces more than twelve lines in length are comparatively rare, and a very large number are either in four lines or in two. Generally speaking, the shorter the epigram is, the stronger is the effect that it produces, and the device whereby the sting of the sarcasm is kept for the very last word is often used with wonderful effect.

xiii

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

Many of the two-line pieces in particular reach perfection within their limited sphere, and defy translation. To take one simple example, no better and no worse than a score of similar cases — (Bk. I, xxviii) :

hesterno fetere mero qui credit Acerram fallitur : in lucem semper Acerra bibit.

“ If you think it is yesterday’s wine smells so strong On Acerra, you’re wrong.

Acerra this morning was still drinking deep,

While you were asleep.”

An English translation may give the sense, but owing to the character of our language it cannot reproduce the finer points of sound and position of words on which Martial depends for his effect. In his epigram the vital points are the position of hesterno and fallitur, and the sound of the syllable — er — six times repeated in the two lines ; and these must almost inevitably disappear. Still the joke remains, and although slight, it is a good one, as chance once proved to me many years ago when I was a master at a certain public school on the south coast. I had been spending the night at the club and was returning home about 3 a.m. one bright summer morning, when, to my joy, I met my colleague, the Reverend Mr X., who was in the habit of rising with the sun to enjoy a walk over the downs. To ask him to take my form to-morrow and to be assured of his willingness was the work of a moment, and I went on to sleep the sleep of the just. About half-past nine, however, my landlady ushered the school porter into my bedroom — “ There’s no one with your lads, sir, and they’re making a bit of a noise ”. Jumping up in haste I ran across and reproached my friend with his breach of trust. “ My dear boy ”, said he, “ you asked me to take them to- morrow ”. I was forced to apologize, and since then I have always regarded this epigram with especial respect.

F. A. W.

xiv

BOOK ONE

BOOK ONE

PREFA CE

I hope that in these little books of mine I have observed such due proportion that no man who is conscious of his own rectitude can complain about them , seeing that their sportive mood preserves, even towards the meanest individuals, that decent respect in which the authors of old were so lacking that they not only made wrongfid use of real names, but even did this in the case of the great. For myself I would seek reputation at a lower price than that, and the last thing for which I desire to be commended is mere smartness

May the malicious commentator abstain from meddling with the plain meaning of my jokes, and from writing my epigrams anew ; for he is dishonourable who misapplies ingenuity upon another’s book. I would make no apology for immodest unreserve in word — that is, for the language of epigram — were I the first to use it, but this is the manner in which Catullus writes, and Marsus, Redo, Gaetulicus, and every other author whose works are read all through ; yet if there be any man so ostentatiously prim, that one may not, even on a single page, speak plain Latin to him, he can be content to go no further than this preface — or rather no further than the title. Epigrams are written for those who are used to look on at the games of Flora ; therefore let no Cato come into our playhouse ; or if he come let him watch the show — and methinks I shall be within my rights if I close this preface with some verse —

* When you knew that the games of gay Flora were on You might from the theatre refrain :

Or did you, stern Cato, come in with a frown Just to make a grim exit again ?

2

BOOK ONE

I

* PREFACE

See, at your service, if you list, Martial the epigrammatist ;

To whom, kind reader, here below, While he the joys of fame could know, Such meed of glory you have given As poets seldom reap in heaven.

II

THE BOOK SPEAKS

If you would choose a book to be

Your travelling comrade, I remind you To buy a handy one like me,

And leave your heavy tomes behind you.

One that a single hand can hold Is best of all, and Twere a pity Should you forget where such are sold And wander vaguely through the city.

Near Pallas’ forum you shall see

The shrine of Peace, and close behind them Secundus’ shop — a freedman he

Of Lucca’s sage — there you shall find them.

Ill

THE AUTHOR TO HIS BOOK

Poor little book, but you’re safer here ; Why seek Booksellers’ Row — and Fame ? Mistress Rome is a blasee dame,

All her children will gibe and jeer :

Even her babies can sniff and sneer,

Young and old, they are all the same, Poor little book, but you’re safer here,

Why seek Booksellers’ Row — and Fame ? They whose applause may seem sincere Soon will toss you aside to shame.

Think you my pen is too austere ?

Go then fly ere it harm and maim,

Poor little book — but you’re safer here.

3

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

IV

TO DOMITIAN

Caesar, if thou shouldst read what I have writ, Wear not the frown a world doth quake to see Even in triumphs may the soldiers’ wit

Flow unreproved, aye tho’ they jest at thee ; But let the smile thou grantest Thymele,

Or gay Latinus, deck thy brow serene ;

From censure may my harmless mirth be free, My page is wanton but my life is clean.

V

THE EMPEROR’S REPLY

I showed a pageant of the sea And in return you send to me

Your wretched lines, you mocker ; Perhaps for this reward you look,

That I should send both bard and book To Davy Jones’ locker.

VI

THE HARE AND THE LIONS

Safely the Eagle bore young Ganymede In careful talons through the empty air ;

So now the lions hear their Quarry plead,

Safe in their mighty jaws doth sport the hare ! A God of power supreme each marvel wrought — Is Jove’s or Caesar’s greater in thy thought ?

VII

THE RIVALS

Although Verona hears, I dare to say That Stella’s lovely cushat soars above The pretty sparrow of Catullus’ love. Aye, lesser is thy singer’s vaunted lay As is the sparrow lesser than the dove.

4

BOOK ONE

VIII

TO DEC I AN US

In that you follow Cato’s perfect way

And Thrasea’s law, but choose to live your day,

Nor seek a naked blade your cares to end,

You live as I would have you live, my friend ; Fame cheaply won doth mere self-slaughter give, I choose for praise the worth that dares to live.

IX

TO COTTA

You long to be a pretty spark and win a hero’s fame,

But ‘ pretty spark ’ and ‘ petty fop ’ are mostly much the same.

X

LOVE’S CHARM

Maronilla, Gemellus doth adore thee,

With instant prayers and vows doth oft implore thee, And many a lover’s gift he lays before thee ;

Since neither beauty, grace, nor charm attend thee What makes him seek thee so, and thus commend thee ? A churchyard cough that promises to end thee.

XI

TO SEXTILIANUS

As a knight they allow you ten shillings a day,

But your wine bill alone is just double your pay,

So the servants would have a hard service, I think,

If they served you hot water to mix with your drink, For to bring you enough’s an impossible feat —

But you save them the trouble by taking it neat.

5

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

XII

TO REGULUS

Near to Alcides’ town, cool Tivoli,

White Albula doth spread her misty mere,

And close, at the fourth milestone, thou shalt see An holy grove and fields to Muses dear ;

A farm with rugged porch for shade was here That nigh had wrought a dreadful deed — ah me So suddenly it fell ! — And thou wert near,

Scarce from beneath thy steeds had carried thee !

I wot that even Fortune shrank aghast

From crime so foul, lest hate should be her meed. Now is that ruin gain : for perils past

Are things of price to all that give them heed,

Dear Regulus, for had thy roof stood fast,

It had not proved that there are Gods indeed.

* XIII

ARRIA AND PAETUS

When Arria, that model wife,

Drew from her breast the blood-stained knife —

‘ This does not hurt, dear lord/ she said,

Tis of your hurt I am afraid/

* XIV

THE HARE AND THE LIONS

The other day we witnessed, Sire, a very funny thing,

When lions wantoned merrily and sported in the ring,

The while a hare leaped gaily forth from out their open jaws And gambolled with the fearsome beasts amid our loud applause.

We wondered how the captured prey escaped the lions wild Till we were told that they were yours — and so of course were mild.

XV

TO HIS FRIEND

Ah Julius mine, I count no friend more dear,

So faithful love and friendship have we known ; And now your sixtieth consulate is near,

How few the days that you can call your own ; Defer not joy, but claim the past alone ;

6

BOOK ONE

Trust not a fortune that may ne’er appear,

Too oft we find that winged joys are flown ;

But care and linked toils are ever here.

Nay, with both hands, we needs must grasp delight And hold her to our heart while yet we may :

Yet even thus she oft doth mock our might And from the fond embrace doth glide away. True wisdom saith not ‘ Life shall soon be bright ’ ; To-morrow is too late — Live thou to-day.

XVI

OLLA PODRIDA

Good work you’ll find, some poor, and much that’s worse. It takes all sorts to make a book of verse.

XVII

DECLINED WITH THANKS

You say, ‘ There’s need of men to plead ’ ;

You bid me don the gown ;

There’s need, I vow, of men to plough — But must I turn a clown ?

* XVIII TO TUCCA

Why with this new cheap Vatican your old Falernian smother ?

What wrong has the good liquor done, what benefit the other ? Your guests perhaps deserve to die : for them I do not care. But ’tis a shame that all must blame to slay a vintage rare.

XIX

THE LAST STRAW

Four teeth, I think, were left to you Until, my ancient dame,

A fit of coughing shot out two,

A second did the same.

7

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

And now the third to come shall find There’s nothing in the way,

So, Aelia, calm your anxious mind And cough the livelong day.

XX

TO CAECILIANUS

What crazy trick is this you do ?

Your guests look on amazed and rueful : You bade them come to dine with you,

And now you gobble every truffle !

What sort of dainty ought to fill

That monstrous maw, you greedy sinner ? You’d eat if I could have my will

The truffles served for Claudius' dinner.

XXI

MUCIUS AND PORSENA

The hand that sought a King but slew a slave Was thrust to perish in the altar flame,

And Porsena his hardy foe forgave

And bade him go, touched by a generous shame. While Mucius endured his hand to maim The monarch dared not to behold the deed ;

And thus that hand has earned the greater fame,

A truer blow had won a lesser meed.

XXII

THE HARE AND THE LIONS

Fear not the lion, little hare,

Those dreadful fangs thou needst not flee, For these have never learned to tear A puny little beast like thee ;

On mightier foes he spends his rage,

From weakling necks doth he refrain,

And shall thy blood his thirst assuage ?

That petty draught would he disdain.

8

BOOK ONE

As tliou, for hounds a fitting prey. His hunger canst not satisfy,

So Caesar’s might doth turn away And pass the Dacian stripling by.

* XXIII

BOON COMPANIONS

If you would feast at Cotta’s board, The baths your only chance afford To get an invitation.

I never yet with him have dined.

My naked charms do not, I find, Excite his admiration.

XXIV

TO DEC I ANUS

To look on yonder fellow’s brow austere And shaggy locks might fill the soul with fear, But hear him speak and you would surely say,

‘ The Curius or Camillus of to-day.’

Trust not to looks, they are a treacherous guide ; But yesterday one took him for a bride !

XXV

TO FA USTINUS

Publish your works — too long have you forborne — Let not your polished work in darkness lie ;

’Tis such as Cecrops’ city should not scorn,

Nor Rome’s ripe scholars pass in silence by.

Nay, doth it irk you that reward is nigh ?

Why bar out fame who standeth at the gate ?

Give birth to what must live, before you die,

For honour paid to ashes comes too late.

XXVI

TO SEXTILIANUS

All the seats to knights allotted Cannot vie with you, I think ; At this rate you’d be besotted E’en if water were your drink.

9

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

You’re a beggar most persistent,

For you cadge from all at hand And you send to seats far distant Your importunate demand ;

Yet the liquor that you favour In Abruzzi never grew,

And no Tuscan hill could flavour Clusters sweet enough for you ; Nay, you quaff a vintage classic That Opimius knew of yore,

And the blackened cask of Massic Yields for you its ripened store. Ten full cups I don’t deny you,

But if more you wish to drain, Then a pot-house should supply you With the dregs of Laletane.

XXVII

‘ T IS WISE TO FORGET *

•

I may have asked you here to dine, But that was late at night,

And none of us had spared the wine If I remember right.

You thought the invitation meant, Though wine obscured my wit ! And — O most parlous precedent — You made a note of it !

The maxim that in Greece was true Is true in Rome to-day —

‘ I hate a fellow-toper who Remembers what I say.’

XXVIII ON AC ERR A

He reeks, you might think, of his yesterday’s drink ;

But knowing his customs and ways,

You are wrong, I’ll be sworn, for he drank till the morn, So the savour is truly to-day’s.

io

BOOK ONE

XXIX

TO FIDENTINUS

A rumour says that you recite As yours the verses that I write.

Friend, if you'll credit them to me I'll send you all my poems free ;

But if as yours you'd have them known, Buy them, and they’ll become your own.

XXX

TO DIAULUS

A surgeon once, you now begin As undertaker’s man,

To earn a bedside practice in The only way you can.

XXXI THE VOW

Encolpus, the centurion’s favoured slave,

Shall lay his locks, great Phoebus, at thy shrine ; When Pudens hath the guerdon of the brave In place and power, that offering shall be thine. Ere down shall mar his cheek, claim thy reward, While flowing curls the milk-white neck adorn ; Long may thy boons endure to slave and lord ;

Let manhood wait, but let him soon be shorn.

* XXXII 1

ON SABIDIUS

I do not love you, Dr Fell.

The reason why I cannot tell.

But this at least I know full well. I do not love you, Dr Fell.

1 With due acknowledgments.

MARTIAL'S EPIGRAMS

XXXIII

ON GELLIA

She weeps not for her sire if none be near,

In company she calls up many a tear.

True mourners would not have their sorrows known, For grief of heart will choose to weep alone.

XXXIV TO LESBIA

You never guard or close the doors To hide your pranks from observation, And for those stolen joys of yours Your confidant is all the nation.

Nay, those who see your wantonness

Delight you more than those who share it, No pleasure pleases you unless

To all the world you can declare it.

From brazen ways pray, Lesbia, turn And let the demi-mondaines teach you, From Chione or las learn A show of virtue, I beseech you.

You think my censure harsh ? Not so,

For if you follow my direction I would not ask you to forgo

Your lovers, but to shun detection.

XXXV

TO CORNELIUS

You say my verses are not fit —

So loose and frivolous their wit—

For pedagogues to read in school ; Cornelius, you forget the rule That little verses such as these,

Like wives and husbands, cannot please If they are prudish. Would you say ‘ Write me a wedding-song, but pray Be grave as in a funeral dirge ’ ?

At Flora’s feast would any urge

12

BOOK ONE

That every light o’ love should be Veiled with a matron’s modesty ?

These merry songs, to win success,

Need just a touch of wantonness ;

A dullard would Priapus be If made a priest of Cybele.

XXXVI

THE BROTHERS

Lucanus, Tullus, if the Gods had given To you the fate of Castor and his brother,

In loving emulation each had striven To give his life in ransom for the other,

And he the first to seek dark Proserpine Had said, ‘ My brother, live thy days and mine.’

* XXXVII TO BASS US

Your chamber ware is made of gold,

Y our drinking-cup of glass is ;

Tis plain that you more precious hold The food that through you passes.

XXXVIII

TO FIDENTINUS

The verse is mine but friend, when you declaim it,

It seems like yours, so grievously you maim it.

XXXIX

TO DEC I AN US

How few the friends like those in years of yore,

That honest age, but if one such there be In Hellene culture steeped and Roman lore Ennobled by a true simplicity,

A soul that Right and Honour hold in fee,

Whose inmost thoughts and vows are void of shame, Whose giant mind upholds and makes him free,

My life on this — that Decian is his name.

13

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

* XL

THE POETS CURSE

May those who frown as they peruse this book, On all with envy, no one on them, look.

XLI

THE WIT

Caecilius, you think your taste is pretty ;

Believe me, any kennel in the city Could furnish rascals just as wise and witty.

Yours is the kind that every gutter hatches,

Across the Tiber it is bred in batches

And trades in broken glass and peddles matches.

If you would find your peers, the street supplies them, The sellers of boiled peas, the lout that buys them, The cheating quacks with snakes to advertize them.

The salt meat vendor’s hireling is your fellow,

To yours the street-musician’s tones are mellow,

The reeking sausage-seller thus does bellow.

Slave-dealing Spaniards, refuse of the nation,

The debauchee whose drivelling iteration Is proof of babbling age and dissipation.

These are your equals. It does not beseem you To count yourself what no one else will deem you,

No Tettius Caballus we esteem you.

Let not the meaning of his name misguide you.

The taste and wit that nature has denied you No vulgar dullard’s horse-play can provide you.

XLII

THE LOVING WIFE

When Porcia heard how Brutus fell And strove to join her lord,

’Twas vain, for they who loved her well Withheld from her the sword.

14

BOOK ONE

‘ Your witless care/ she cried, * hath sought My purpose to deny ;

I deemed my father’s deed had taught That all who will may die,

Though troublous knaves their wish withstand And every weapon hide.’

Deep in her throat a flaming brand She thrust forthwith and died.

XLIII

TO M AN C IN US

You bade us dine with you, three score Invited guests, and nothing more You gave us than a wretched boar —

Aye, that was all I vow.

No Autumn grapes of flavour rare,

No apple honey-sweet was there.

Nor any ripe and luscious pear,

Hung late upon the bough.

No rosy peaches graced the board,

Your baskets still their cheeses hoard,

No olive jar its bounty poured To cheer our drooping mind.

In lonely state that pigling lay,

So small that ’twere an easy prey For any brat unarmed to slay ;

Yet there was worse behind !

We never got a single bit,

But only sat and looked at it,

So in the Arena one might sit,

And feast his eyes while starving.

You stingy host, for such a feat I will not wish you boar to eat,

But only hope, when next you meet,

The boar may do the carving.

XLIV

THE OLD THEME

‘ Hares and Lions again,’ so I hear you complain ;

If they seem but monotonous fare And for vengeance you pine, you can ask me to dine And give me two courses of hare.

15

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

XLV

POETS PADDING

Lest all overlook so tiny a book And brevity lead to its loss,

I will not refuse such padding to use As ‘ Tov & aTT a 6 fxzv os.’

* XLVI

FESTINA LENTE

When you say — ‘ Quick : let’s get it over ’ — I feel myself a languid lover.

It’s only when you bid me wait That I dash from the starting-gate.

If you are in such haste to go You’d better tell me to be slow.

XLVI I

TO DIAULUS

Now leechcraft forsaking you try undertaking And furnish the funerals of men,

So your trade is the same tho’ you alter the name — For you always provided them then.

* XLVIII

THE HARE AND THE LIONS

The bull was not spared by that wide-open maw ; But the hare gambols lightly and frisks in his jaw, Running now all the swifter, escaped from the foe, And something of leonine courage doth show.

She was never more safe in the loneliest fen,

Never more sure of life in the depths of her den.

If you wish, wanton hare, from the greyhound to By, Then the jaws of the lion will refuge supply,

16

BOOK ONE

XLIX

TO LIC IN I ANUS

The Celtiberian tribesmen tell thy praise

And proudly doth our Spain thy fame record,

How glad thy lot on Bilbilis to gaze,

The city famed alike for steed and sword.

Caius the ancient with his locks of snow,

The shattered crags of Vadavevo’s peak,

And soft Boterdus’ valley shalt thou know,

Whose pleasant groves Pomona loves to seek.

How sweet in genial Congedus to swim,

Or breast the waters of the nymphs’ calm pool,

In Salo’s brook to brace each weary limb Where steel is hardened by his waters cool.

Voberca’s self — no further need’st thou stray —

Shall bring thee game, and thou shalt hunt at ease, And cloudless summer’s heat canst thou allay By golden Tagus’ bank beneath the trees.

Dercenna shall thy parching thirst assuage,

And Nutha colder than the frozen snow,

But ere the wrath of hoarse December rage Seek the calm shores of sunny Tarraco.

Thy Laletania shall thy refuge be,

And there shalt thou the boar or hind ensnare,

The while thy verdurer tracks the stag for thee,

Thy sturdy steed may tire the cunning hare.

There unkempt urchins seek the genial glow Thy forest-girdled hearthstone doth afford,

Where rustic guests a generous welcome know And many a hungry hunter shares thy board.

The sandal, crescent-decked, the robe of state,

The cloak of purple dye thou shalt not need.

Nor fear the hoarse Liburnian at thy gate ;

No clients grumble there, no widows plead ;

No pale defendant breaks into thy sleep ;

Nay, if thou wilt, turn mornings into nights :

The world’s applause let others seek and keep,

Yet feel some pity for those hapless wights.

And while friend Sura goes in quest of praise,

Seek true delight henceforth and pride forswear, Justly the joys of life demand our days,

For fame already hath her ample share.

17

1!

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

L

TAR AT ALL A

Since Homer says, ‘ they sliced the other meat, You call your scullion ‘ Slice ’ — a gay conceit ; And may not I adopt a like device ?

For * T’other ’ as a name is just as nice.

LI

THE HARE AND THE LIONS

Why flee the lion in vainglorious flight ? The sturdiest foe alone provokes his might, And will he turn from lordly bulls to thee ; Or stoop to crush a neck he scarce can see ? Ah, puny hare, that hope must thou forgo. Thou shalt not fall to such a noble foe.

LI I

FALSE CLAIMS

To you will I commend my book ;

That is if Fidentinus brook My claim to keep an owner’s rights ;

He always steals what he recites.

Should he oppress it or enslave,

Defend it and convict the knave ;

And if he claim its lord to be,

Say it was mine but now is free.

Three times and four the truth proclaim And put the kidnapper to shame.

Till

TO FIDENTINUS

You stole my book — one page and one alone Is yours, indelibly ’tis signed and sealed With vilest imperfections all your own :

Thus of the rest your theft doth stand revealed.

1 8

BOOK ONE

So when the courtly gallants of the Town

Are elbowed by a bumpkin smeared and patched, Their cloaks are sullied by the greasy clown ;

Is vulgar clay with clearest crystal matched ? When to swan-haunted streams a crow is nigh The carrion bird hath yet a fouler taint,

When thrills the grove to nightingales, the pie Mars with her evil shriek the Attic plaint.

No surer proof, no advocate, I need

Your page stands forth to prove your felon deed.

LIV

TO FUSC US

Your friends abound on every side, But is your heart all occupied ?

For if one vacant place there be I pray you give that place to me.

A love untried may yet be true,

For all old friends have once been new. Make proof of mine, since, if ’tis fit, The years can only strengthen it.

* LV

COUNTRY PLEASURES

Dear Fronto, famed alike in peace and war,

If you would learn what my chief wishes are, Know that I crave some acres few to till,

And live at ease as careless as I will.

Why should I always trudge the stony street And go each morn some haughty lord to greet, When all the country’s spoils are mine to get Caught in the meshes of a hunting-net ?

When I with line could snare the leaping trout And from the hive press golden honey out.

While Joan my humble board with eggs supplies Boiled on a fire whose logs she never buys ?

May he not love this life who loves not me,

And still in Rome a pale-faced client be !

19

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

LVl

THE SEASON’S CRIME

The rain doth vex the vineyard still And drips from every vine. Vintner, whatever be your will,

You cannot sell neat wine.

LVII

MODERA TION

You bid me say what kind of maid Can draw me or repel ?

My friend, I hate a forward jade But loathe a prude as well.

I love the mean : extremes are vain And never bring me joy ;

Love long denied is grief and pain, While easy favours cloy.

* LVIII

THE CONNOISSEUR

‘ Eight hundred down ’ — the dealer said I smiled — ‘ No, not to-day.’

But Phoebus straight the money paid And took the lad away.

‘ You should not be so mean,’ — you cry.

‘ If Phoebus, why not you ? ’

I am not built like him ; or I Might be as generous too.

LIX

TO FLACCUS

The most luxurious baths on earth, Rich marbles to recline on,

And then a wretched florin’s worth Is all I got to dine on !

Ah, give me Lupus’ dingy den ;

’Tis little consolation To bathe in luxury — and then To perish of starvation.

20

BOOK ONE

* LX

THE HARE AND THE LIONS

Though you may pass, Miss Hare, within his jaw,

The lion thinks no flesh is in his maw.

Where is your back, and where those shoulders round, Wherein the bullock feels the deep-struck wound ? Why tease in empty sport the forest lord ?

He picks the beast that shall his meal afford.

LXI

THE CATALOGUE OF POETS

Well doth Verona love her poet-seer,

To Virgil’s sacred name doth Mantua thrill,

And though she deems Stella and Livy dear Apona holds her Flaccus dearer still.

To Nile that waters Egypt’s rainless coast Apollodorus hath his lustre lent.

Two Senecas are proud Cordova’s boast With Lucan peerless and pre-eminent.

Cadiz the gay delights in Canius’ name Augusta doth with Uecian’s glory shine ;

So too our Bilbilis shall tell your fame

One day, my friend, and haply whisper mine.

LXII

A CHANGE OF CLIMATE

Laevina was a stricter prude Than Sabine dames of old.

And e’en her husband’s rigorous mood Was not a whit more cold.

Alas, to bathe she loved to go And thus was she undone,

For Tunbridge Wells enhanced the woe That Cheltenham had begun.

’Twas there she felt the amorous flame, And fled with gallant gay :

So ’twas Penelope that came,

But Helen went away.

21

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

LXIII TO CELER

You’d have me read my verse. Nay that ensures The consequence that you would make them yours.

LXIV

THE BOASTER

You’re rich and young, as all confess,

And none denies your loveliness ;

But when we hear your boastful tongue You’re neither pretty, rich, nor young.

LXV

THE DOUBLE-ENTENDRE

‘ Ficus,’ I said, but when jmu heard You mocked it as a barbarous word And called my blunder gross.

Your sort and mine, as now I see Do differ— fundamentally :

So yours shall be, ‘ Ficos.’

LXVI

THE PLAGIARIST

Insatiable thief, you’re wrong to think That poets can be made at such a price ;

Though paper’s cheap and copying and ink,

Believe me eighteen-pence will not suffice.

Seek an unpublished work, verse yet unknown, Whose virgin page its owner guards within Close locked and sealed and scanned by him alone, Unsmeared as yet by any studious chin.

For books once known can hardly be suborned To change their lord ; find an unpolished scroll With boss and parchment cover unadorned — Some such I have and would not tell a soul — Remember, if for stolen fame you look,

To buy the author’s silence, not his book.

22

LX VII

TO CERYLUS

BOOK ONE

You often say my work is coarse. Tis true But then it must be so — it deals with you.

LXVIII

THE ONLY GIRL

’Tis Naevia if he smile or weep ;

There’s nothing he can do without her ;

If silent for a while he keep,

That very silence is about her.

’Tis Naevia still, do what he may Drink, eat, gesticulate, or mutter

She only is his ‘ Yea ’ and ‘ Nay ’

Which, save for her, he could not utter.

When writing to salute his Sire,

His mind from her he could not sever,

But ended with a lover’s fire

‘ My only life, my light for ever.’

With mocking glance did Naevia read And slyly smiled above the letter ;

But, foolish Rufus, you’ve no need

To rage — the’re girls as good and better.

LXIX

A MORTAL PAN

Tarentum worships Canius now,

Of old she worshipped Pan ;

And thus the merry God doth bow Before the merry man.

LXX

GREETINGS

Go, little book, to greet my friend for me,

Do reverence in Proculus’ bright halls ;

And if thou ask the way, I’ll tell it thee —

Pass Castor’s shrine and Vesta’s ancient walls,

That guard the Virgin Goddess’ sacred home ; And thence a reverent temple thou shalt see

Fair with the statues of the Lord of Rome.

23

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

Near is the vast Colossus decked with rays Wherewith the Rhodian marvel may not vie ; Yet hasten on and tarry not to gaze,

And pass the shrine of gay Lyaeus by :

Hard by the fane of Cybele, aglow With Corybants, in colours all ablaze Stands the fair house and lofty portico.

Go near thereto/tis never barred with pride,

But Phoebus and the muse it holdeth dear ; To these its door is ever opened wide.

But, if ’tis asked why Martial is not here,

Say ‘ He doth weave thy praises into song And may not spare an hour to aught beside, For, had he come, his verse had suffered wrong/

LXXI

THE TOAST

A seven-fold draught to toast Justina pour, For Laevia six, and five must Lycas claim,

To Ida three are due, to Lyde four,

One draught for every letter of a name ;

That spell should draw them, but, if vain it be,

I drink to sleep — he’s sure to come to me.

LXXII

TO FI DEN TIN US

Do you design that verse of mine Should bring repute to you,

Or did you deem by such a scheme To be a poet too ?

Well, I suppose, the pearly rows ’Twixt Aegle’s lips that glow,

Though purchased bone, she calls her own, And thinks them truly so.

Lycoris, too, of mulberry hue Believes — delusion fond —

The powder puff is quite enough To make a lovely blonde.

Must we regard you as a bard ?

Why, then I will admit Your head has shocks of lovely locks Without a hair on it.

24

* LXX1II

TO CAEC ILIAN US

BOOK ONE

When you offered your wife to each passer-by free,

Not a soul ever wanted to try her.

You have learnt wisdom now : kept beneath lock and key She has crowds of men waiting to buy her.

LXXIV TO PAULA

You had some chance to disavow What rumour said of him and you Until you married him : but now Will any hold the tale untrue ?

LXXV

PRUDENCE

When Linus begged a loan, his friend, A prudent soul, declined to lend But gave him half, because he found That saved ten shillings in the pound.

* LXXVI

THE POETS WAGES

Dear Flaccus, you the best reward of all my anxious thought, To manhood grown in that far town that once Antenor sought, Have done with those Pierian strains the Muses love to sing ; Of all the band none to your hand a shilling e’er will bring. What from Apollo will you get ? Let Pallas be your friend,

A maid of sense without pretence, and lots of cash to lend. What can the Bacchic ivy give ? But the Palladian tree Still useful grows with bending boughs in grey-green harmony. On Helicon you naught will find — a lyre perhaps or rose,

Or a bright gleam of babbling stream, and noise of vain * bravos.’

Why court the nymphs that in Permess or Cirrha have their home ?

Richer by far and nearer are the markets of our Rome.

There you will hear the chink of coin : with poets only misses Send through the air to our poor chair the sound of empty kisses.

25

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

LXXV1I

ON CHARI N US

His health is good yet he is always pale ;

He drinks but little, His of no avail,

So wan his face no sun can darken it,

And good digestion aids him not a whit,

Not even rouge that pallid cheek can flush — And e’en his vices do not make him blush !

LXXVIII

\

TO FESTUS

Though death had gripped his throat he knew not fear When the black venom crept into his cheek,

But stayed awhile his sorrowing friends to cheer,

Then tearless turned the nether world to seek ;

Dark poison’s numbing draught he put aside And would not brook slow famine’s long delay ; Stainless he lived and as a Roman died,

And since he dared to tread the nobler way,

More glorious than Cato’s was his end

Who chose to die though Caesar was his friend.

LXXIX

TO ATT ALUS

Some busy task you still pursue, nor seem to care a jot Whether there’s anything to do or whether there is not.

As business man or counsellor your ardour never cools, You’re busy driving bargains or as busy driving mules. ’Tis unemployment that you dread : that evil circumvent, My busy friend, by dying ; for that job is permanent.

LXXX

TO CANUS

You begged a meal the day you died ;

You got it as was due ;

And then you perished mortified Because it wasn’t two.

26

BOOK ONE

LXXXI

TO SOSIBIANUS

Your mother was a slave ; but though you guess it Why call your father ‘ Master ’ and confess it ?

LXXXII

THE ESCAPE

Behold the crumbled mass that here Spreads o’er the ground its vast extent ;

To crime unspeakable ’twas near,

Yet is the ruin innocent.

Beneath the arch its master lay.

The ponderous roof-tree overhead,

And thence he scarce was borne away Ere fell the mass in ruin dread.

Whilst he was there, each mouldering wall, Each straining stone, the weight endured ;

Ah Regulus, it dared not fall Until thy safety was assured.

Now as we shrink in fear to see How nigh the dreadful peril came,

We know the Gods have care of thee And kept the ruin free from blame.

* LXXXIII TO MANN El A

Your dog licks your mouth and you don’t push him from it. But what says the proverb — ‘ A dog and his vomit ’ ?

LXXXIV

ON QUI RINA LIS

Children he wants, but fears the marriage bond ;

Yet his dislikes and fancies correspond ;

For kindly handmaids set the matter right ;

The fields and mansions of the worthy knight

Are well supplied with slavelings — knightlings rather ;

To each of whom he is a proper father.

27

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

LXXXV

THE TRUTH REVEALED

Poor Marius ! the auctioneer,

Who glibly spoke as he was bidden To keep his client’s credit clear,

Revealed the truth he should have hidden.

‘ Observe,’ said he ‘ this favoured spot The land well tilled, the outlook pretty,

In short an eligible lot

Conveniently near the city.

‘ Pray, gentlemen, do not suppose The sale is forced — that’s not suggested ;

The owner not a penny owes,

Nay, he has money well invested.

‘ Does some one ask what makes him sell ?

Mere fancy that it is not healthy ;

He’s lost slaves, cattle, crops — and well,

You know the whims that move the wealthy.’

I hear that no one cared to buy —

Since none was loser by profession —

And Marius still wonders why

The land remains in his possession.

* LXXXVI

NEAR NEIGHBOURS

You think that I’m a happy man With Novius so near me,

And when I lift my finger can Get him at once to cheer me.

The truth is he’s as far away As is my other friend Who rules Syene’s land to-day Where Nile’s blue waters end.

I never meet him at a meal,

Nor find his door ajar,

There’s not a soul in Rome, I feel,

So near and yet so far.

Well, either I or he must move Away from here, that’s plain.

When we’re not neighbours, it may prove That we shall meet again.

28

BOOK ONE

* LXXXV1I

TO FESCENNIA

That your breath may not smell of your yesterday’s drink A pastille will serve as protection, you think.

It may whiten your teeth ; but it does not avail To cover the reek of the far-wafted gale That comes from your nethermost caverns : ’tis blent With the fumes of your liquor, that odorous scent.

Have done with such tricks then : they do not deceive us : We know you’re a toper : with that you must leave us.

LXXXVIII

ON A PAGE-BOY’S GRAVE

Dear Alcimus, reft from your loving lord,

Slain in your spring,

Here is your wayside grave with tender sward For covering.

No tottering pile of marble here shall stand,

That, well I know,

Vain toil should raise for Time’s relentless hand To overthrow.

Nay, rather shading pine and shapely yew Is planted here

And meadow flowers besprinkled with the dew Of many a tear.

And take, beloved, for memorial This song from me,

A monument that shall not waste nor fall While time shall be.

I pray when Lachesis has spun mine hours To their last thread,

Thus may I lie with simple trees and flowers Above my head.

LXXXIX

TO CINNA

Cinna, you whisper in one’s ear

The things that all the world might hear,

You laugh, complain, dispute, and moan As if ’twere for one ear alone ;

29

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

Your silence — aye your clamour — wear A whispering and furtive air ;

Tis thus with songs, opinions too ;

Has this disease so mastered you That when all loyal subjects sing,

You merely hum ‘ God save the King ’ ?

XC

Ouod numquam maribus iunctam te, Bassa, uidebam Ouodque tibi moechum fabula nulla dabat,

Omne sed officium circa te semper obibat Turba tui sexus, non adeunte uiro,

Esse uidebaris, fateor, Lucretia nobis :

At tu, pro facinus, Bassa, fututor eras.

Inter se geminos audes committere cunnos Mentiturque uirum prodigiosa Venus.

Commenta es dignum Thebano aenigmate monstrum, Hie, ubi uir non est, ut sit adulterium.

XCI

TO LAE LIUS

You blame my verse ; to publish you decline ; Show us your own or cease to carp at mine.

XCII

Saepe mihi queritur non siccis Cestos ocellis,

Tangi se digito, Mamuriane, tuo.

Non opus est digito : totum tibi Ceston habeto,

Si dest nil aliud, Mamuriane, tibi.

Sed si nec focus est nec nudi sponda grabati Nec curtus Chiones Antiopesue calix,

Cerea si pendet lumbis et scripta lacerna Dimidiasque nates Gallica paeda tegit,

Pasceris et nigrae solo nidore culinae

Et bibis inmundam cum cane pronus aquam,

Non culum, neque enim est cuius, qui non cacat olim, Sed fodiam digito qui superest oculum :

Nec me zelotypum nec dixeris esse malignum. Denique pedica, Mamuriane, satur.

30

BOOK ONE

XCIII

COMRADES

Here sleeps Aquinus — to his friend at rest Death doth restore him,

That friend who to the mansions of the blest Had gone before him.

Each was a legion's captain ; in the fight 'Twas his to lead it ;

But each has won a record yet more bright— Here may'st thou read it.

They lived in honour’s hallowed bond , and died That bond unparted ;

No common thought of envy could divide The loyal-hearted.

* XCIV

ON AN OLD ACTRESS

When you had lovers by the score You never knew your part.

But now that lovers are no more, 'Tis learnt by heart.

xcv

TO A ELI US

While others plead, you bawl and shriek — - The purpose we discern ;

The bribes men give you not to speak Are all the fees you earn.

XCVI

A SLIP OF THE TONGUE

My halting verse, go bear for me,

Unless the task o’erburden thee,

A word for friend Maternus' ear,

(Speak softly Jest the world should hear).

31

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

Tell of a certain man we know

Who loves sad clothes and makes a show

Of Baetic wool and garments grey,

But holds that red is far too gay ;

While amethyst will never do For men — * ’Tis but a woman’s hue,’ — Though robes undyed may win his praise, Or neutral tones, or simple greys.

But though with garish tints he quarrels, Yet what about his lurid morals ?

* Who is the man ? ’ you ask. Somehow The name has slipped from me, just now.

XCVII

THE FRAUD

You only speak amid a chattering crowd,

Yet claim with eloquence to be endowed,

A claim that anyone can make, no doubt. Hark, there’s a lull — Now, Naevolus, speak out.

XCVIII

GOUT IN THE HAND

He’s gouty in the feet, you say, This litigant who will not pay His counsel’s just demand. The crippling poison, I conclude From this close-fisted attitude, Has now attacked his hand.

* XCIX THE MISER

When you had but one thousand you then did appear So profuse that we asked God to give You a fortune to spend ; and within half a year Four legacies raised it to five.

But you, as though nothing were left you at all,

So miserly now have become That but once in a year your companions you call To a dinner with you at your home.

BOOK ONE

We are seven good men, each an old trusty friend. But the choicest repast that you offer Costs you but a few shillings and on us you spend The most doubtful coins in your coffer.

What boon shall we beg for you, generous sir ?

You’ve got five, so we’ll ask God for fifty.

And if in reply He should fifty confer,

You will soon starve to death, Master Thrifty.

C

TO A FRA

‘ Papa,’ * Mamma,’ in childish wise, How prettily you call !

Yet you appear to others’ eyes The grandmamma of all.

Cl

TO HIS DEAD SECRETARY

Thy hand has shared my labours many a time, Demetrius, and courts have known thy skill ;

Ah, for the youth that faded in its prime,

The hand that ere thy twentieth year lay still !

I saw thee parched by fever’s fiery breath,

And could not brook that thou shouldst die a slave ; I gave thee freedom’s right before thy death —

Would that my boon had freed thee from the grave ! ‘ Patron ’ you sighed and owned the gift from me, Then fared to Lethe’s waters, glad and free.

CII

VENUS AND MINERVA

By giving Venus such an ugly face Your artist thought to win Minerva’s grace.

33 C

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

CIII

TO SCAEVOLA

‘ Would heaven I were a millionaire/ you cried,

Ere yet for knighthood you were qualified ;

‘ Well would I lodge and sumptuously fare.’

Then gaily laughed the Gods and heard your prayer. Yet is your raiment shabbier than before,

Your shoes more patched and clouted than of yore, Ten wretched olives serve you for a feast,

And out of these you save the half at least,

Two meals from every dish you try to squeeze,

And drink Veientan to its muddy .lees,

Two pence a day is all that you expend,

One on cold pulse, one on your lady friend.

Live decently henceforth, you cheating knave,

Or else return to heaven the wealth it gave.

CIV

THE HARE AND THE LIONS

The spotted pard, although the yoke be slight, Doth bow his neck thereto ; the tiger’s might,

For all his rage, is by a rod controlled,

And the wild ass doth champ a curb of gold ;

The Libyan bear is guided by a bit,

And monster bisons to the rein submit ;

A purple halter guides a mighty boar Vast as the brute in Calydon of yore ;

Obedient to a swarthy master’s will Leviathan displays a dancer’s skill !

Who would not deem a miracle was here ?

Yet doth a marvel greater still appear.

See how the lordly lions condescend On swift but timid hares their might to spend ; They catch, set free, and gambol with the prey That safe within their gaping maw doth play. Freely the quarry passes to and fro Through fangs that seem to dread the puny foe ; In sooth ’tis generous shame that doth restrain The might that late a lordly bull hath slain. Could human art have taught them pity ? Nay, ’Tis Caesar’s law of mercy these obey.

34

BOOK ONE

cv

OLD WINE

Though from Nomentan soil the vintage came. Yet, as the years rolled on, by slow degrees With age it changed its character and name ; So old a cask bears any name it please.

CVI

THE SOBER LOVER

You drown with water every cup

And, though your comrades press you, The feeble draught you hardly sup ! What madness can possess you ?

Had Naevia sworn to crown your bliss To-night, we had excused you ;

But since you groan and sigh, by this We know she has refused you.

Then quaff a cup of fourfold size And others let us pour you ;

To drown your sorrow must be wise,

If only sleep’s before you.

CVII

TO LUCIUS JULIUS

1 Your trifling all is vain. Sing me a nobler strain ! ’ Thus you implore me ; Then grant the ease I crave, Such as Maecenas gave To bards before me.

So shall I weave a song That through the ages long May never perish ;

Nay, for the funeral flame Cannot consume a fame That all men cherish.

35

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

Dully the oxen toil On harsh and barren soil That yields no treasure. But fat and fruitful earth Turns weariness to mirth And toil to pleasure.

CVIII

TO GALLUS

Fair is your stately house across the river,

Long be it yours to flourish all your days.

But now with years my feeble footsteps quiver,

And far my garret by Agrippa’s bays.

If in the early morn I come to greet you,

A long and weary journey I must take,

Fain would I travel further yet to meet you

And count the toil as naught for friendship’s sake.

One client less can give you little sorrow,

’Tis much to me if I withhold your due ;

And so I send my book to say good-morrow.

Ere at a later hour I come to you.

* CIX

ON A LITTLE DOG

Catullus of a sparrow sung :

But Issa’s neater.

A kiss is sweet from ringdove’s tongue : But Issa’s sweeter.

She’s nicer than the nicest girl,

She’s dearer than the dearest pearl ;

No pet can beat her.

Whene’er she whines, you’d think that she Was talking sadly.

Sometimes she cries, sometimes in glee She barks out gladly.

And when she needs herself to ease,

She lifts her paw and says — ‘ Sir, please,

I want to badly.’

36

BOOK ONE

If she is sleeping on your bed You do not hear her ;

Nor will she soil the blanket spread, You need not fear her.

So modest is she, we can’t find

A suitor of the canine kind To let come near her.

Lest death should take her from our eyes, A picture giving

Her very self in shape and size Portrays her striving.

Put dog and picture both together ;

You’ll wonder which is paint, or whether They both are living.

CX

TO VELOX

' Such lengthy epigrams,’ you say, ‘ affright one.’ True, yours are shorter, for you never write one.

CXI

TO REGULUS

Your work is worthy of a wit

That earned a scholar’s reputation,

The pious care you spend on it Is equal to your inspiration,

And any man who marvels why

Incense and books to you are proffered, Knows not a gift should typify His qualities to whom ’tis offered.

CXII

THE UNGRACIOUS PATRON

I used to say ‘ My Lord ’ and ‘ Sir,’ Ere yet your worthlessness I knew ; Now I have learned your character, Plain ‘ Priscus ’ is enough for you.

37

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

CXIII

THE ENTERPRISING PUBLISHER

Read, if you have good hours to waste And leisure moments cloy,

The triflings of my callow taste While yet I was a boy.

Though long I have forgotten it,

The nonsense you can buy ;

For Pollius will not permit Its feebleness to die.

CXIV

TO FAUSTINUS

Faenius doth own the meadows there Beside the watered plain,

The little plot and garden fair That border your domain,

And here his daughter’s ashes lie Beneath a hallowed stone,

Her name thereon : Ah, fain were he That there were writ his own. ’Twere juster if an aged sire Had crossed the Stygian wave. Since fate denied him his desire,

He lives to tend her grave.

cxv

TO PROCILLUS

There’s a maid who pines for me, (Doth your envy stir ?)

Fairer than a swan is she,

Naught can rival her.

Silver, lilies, privet, snow,

All must yield their pride.

(Now your jealous thoughts, I know, Tend to suicide.)

38

BOOK ONE

She by whom my heart is swayed (Still your angry fright :)

Is a black but comely maid Darker than the night.

Ant or cricket, pitch, or crow, These are not so black ;

You’ll consent to live, I know. Put that halter back !

CXVI

ANTULLA’S GRAVE

By Faenius the grove and garden-plot Are dedicated ;

In honour of the dead this hallowed spot Is consecrated.

For here Antulla lies, too early slain, Here sire and mother Will share her grave, united once again Each to the other.

Hast thou a hope this holy soil to own ?

Thou must forswear it ;

’Tis given for ever to the dead alone, None else may share it.

CXVII

TO LUPERCUS

Whene’er we meet you always say ‘ When may I send a servant, pray,

To fetch your book ? I’ll read it through And straightway send it back to you.’ Nay, trouble not your servant, friend,

To Pear-tree Court is far to send,

And one must climb an awkward stair To reach my third-floor garret there.

No need is there so far to roam,

You’ll find the book much nearer home. You know the place where Argus died ? You often pass it — close beside Is Caesar’s forum, and a stall By columns marked, on which they scrawl The names and works of bards, to tell A passer-by what books they sell.

39

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

Here seek my works. You need not stop To tell the owner of the shop —

By name Atrectus — what you seek ;

He’ll find you Martial ere you speak ;

His top or second pigeon-hole Is sure to hold a handsome scroll,

Well smoothed and decked with purple dye. It costs but half a crown to buy.

‘ So much,’ you say, ‘ for such a thing ? ’ You're wise, ’ tis not worth borrowing.

* CXVIII

TO CAECILIANUS

If five score epigrams are not enow,

A reader must be boredom proof, I trow.

40

BOOK TWO

BOOK TWO

PREFACE

VALERIUS MARTI ALIS to his friend DECIANUS

GREETING

‘ What is the good of a prologue,’ you say. ‘ Is it not conces- sion enough to you if I read the epigrams ? And, besides, what do you mean to express in the said prologue that you could not express in the verses ? I see why tragedies and comedies are allowed one, because they cannot speak for themselves, but epigrams need no herald and are content with their own power of speech — and a hurtful one it is too ; they can do their prologising on any page they will. I beseech you, if you think fit to listen, not to do an absurd thing, nor dress a dancer in the long robe. Furthermore consider whether a wooden sword satisfies you as a weafion against a fighter armed with a net. I, for my part, take my place with those spectators who protest against any such unfair conditions .’ I verily believe, Decianus, that you are right! Ah, if you only knew with what sort of prologue, and how long a one, you nearly had to deal ! Be it then as you desire, and anyone who may chance to read this book shall owe it to you that he comes unwearied to page one.

43

BOOK TWO

I

PREFA CE

You might have borne three hundred pieces ? True. But, if you had, could any bear with you ?

Why, little book, of brevity complain ?

It saves a waste of paper : that’s a gain ;

The scribe needs but a single hour, and then To weightier books may turn his busy pen :

A reader too more easily may brook The flaws and blunders of a tiny book ;

For at a banquet he could read you through,

Ere the mulled wine should cool, so short are you. Yet though by brevity success you court,

Many will find you long, however short.

* II

TO THE EMPEROR DOMITIAN

Crete gave the mighty name Metellus bore,

Scipio a mightier gained on Afric shore.

But yet more grand the name from conquered Rhine That, when a child, Germania made thine.

Thy sire and brother won the Jewish crown :

The wreath the Chatti send is all thine own.

Ill

TO SEXTUS

You disappoint no creditor, you say ?

True, no one ever thought that you would pay.

* IV

TO AM MI ANUS

You fondle your mother and she fondles you :

You’re her ‘ brother ’ and she is your ‘ sister.’

Why those mischievous names, I should much like to know ? Why are you not her son when you’ve kissed her ?

45

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

If you think that such conduct is merely a jest, You’re mistaken, my innocent ‘ brother.’

When a mother as ‘ sister ’ would fain be addressed, She is neither the one nor the other.

V

TO DEC I ANUS

To pass my days and nights with you, That were my lot if I might choose it.

I pledge my life this word is true —

Alas, that fortune should refuse it.

I dwell two weary miles away,

The homeward road my toil will double,

And all the while I know I may

Have but the journey for my trouble.

For when I come, you are not there,

At least I may not come anigh you ;

Or I am told that public care Or private matters occupy you.

I would not grudge two miles and more To greet my friend and sit beside him :

’Tis weary work to travel four And, after all, to be denied him.

VI

TO SEVERUS

* Publish soon,’ you used to say,

And pretend

That you could not bear delay,

Eager friend ;

Now your taste can hardly brook Just two pages of my book,

Ere you yawn, and turn to look At the end.

Yet its verses are not new And unknown,

All the duller ones to you I had shown ;

Then how carefully you’d note them, In your pocket-book you wrote them, With intent, perhaps, to quote them As your own.

46

BOOK TWO

Aye, at parties then you passed Them about ;

On the interest you cast Little doubt.

Now the book — no lengthy screed — Takes you half a week to read,

Such enjoyment is indeed Long drawn out.

As a lazy traveller lags On his way ;

Short the journey, yet he flags ;

So you stay

For an hour or two to bait,

When you’ve barely passed the gate ; Yet ’twas you that would not wait Or delay !

VII

TO ATTICUS

You’re a moderate reciter, you’ve a pretty knack of pleading,

You’re a pretty story- writer, and your verse is pretty reading,

You’ve a pretty style in dancing, and your voice is rather pretty,

If your plays are not entrancing they are moderately witty,

Then your satire’s rather comic, and of letters you’ve a smattering,

While on questions astronomic you’ve a pretty trick of chattering,

Your music’s commonplace with no unusual ability,

At games you show some grace with no remarkable agility.

Tho’ you’re moderate at all, you’ve mastered not a thing of them ;

So a sciolist I call you — and the very prince and king of them.

VIII

TO THE READER

Good reader, do not blame the bard For phrases too obscure or hard,

Or if the grammar seem to halt ; Believe me that’s the scrivener’s fault.

47

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

He knew your eagerness to read And sacrificed too much to speed. If me you blame instead of him, Your intellect must need be dim : You call me but a feeble poet ? I’m not so dull as not to know it ; My verse is poor, that I admit, But doubt if you can better it.

IX

A COY MAIDEN

She did not answer when I wrote, Refusal must be meant ;

And yet I know she read the note — And silence gives consent.

X

TO POSTUMUS

You give me only half a kiss ;

All thanks for that ; but pray Grant me a further boon ; ’tis this — Take half that half away.

Yet higher should the favour be — Mere speech its worth profanes — If you would not inflict on me The quarter that remains.

XI

TO RUFUS

With clouded brow and weary gait, Unheeding though the hour be late, Doth Selius tramp the portico,

His weary head bowed down with woe For grief that scarce can be suppressed He tears his hair and beats his breast.

48

BOOK TWO

Deem not this sorrow doth portend The loss of brother or of friend ;

His wife and sons — long life be theirs —

Are prosperous ; in his affairs Bailiff and slaves are diligent,

No tenant cheats him of his rent.

‘ Then what can cause his grief/ you say — He has to dine at home to-day.

* XII

TO POSTUMUS

What means it, I wonder, the odour of scent That’s on your lips always, of cinnamon blent. It’s suspicious this perfume whenever we meet : For men always scented don’t really smell sweet.

* XIII

TO SEXTUS

Both the judge and the counsel say you’re in their debt : You had best pay the one where most credit you’ll get.

XIV

THE DINER-OUT

There’s nothing Selius will not do or dare Rather than sup at home on meagre fare ;

He haunts the running-ground and swears ’tis true That swift Achilles never ran like you,

Paulinus ; failing him he next may go And take his chance at Jason’s portico.

That too is blank, so off to Isis’ shrine —

Some courtesan may take him home to dine.

Failure once more ! Well, Pompey’s porch may do, Or, should that fail, perhaps his avenue :

He hurries next to Faustus’ baths and then To Lupus’ and to Gryllus’ murky den.

Still no success ! He bathes three times and more — Heaven sends no better fortune than before.

49

D

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

So back lie goes to spy if anyone Perchance is basking in the evening sun About Europa’s porch and leafy bower —

There’s just a chance of one tho’ late the hour.

O amorous bull, pray pity Selius’ plight,

And make him dine with you in heaven to-night.

* XV

TO HORMUS

From your cup no one ever to drink you allow : But it really is kindness not pride that you show.

XVI

THE REMEDY

Now Zoilus is ill, ’tis said;

But rumour’s a deceiver.

’Tis only that his scarlet bed Has given him scarlet fever.

He longed to make a fool’s display (Good health alone prevented)

Of downy cushions, hangings gay With Tyrian dyes and scented.

Not Aesculapius’ art divine Is needed, I assure him ;

If he would change his bed for mine I know that it would cure him.

XVII

THE LADY BARBER

A lady barber there doth dwell Just where Suburra’s vale emerges To join the place where Argus fell,

Where hang the lictors’ bloody scourges. She sits among the cobblers’ booths That take up half the street or block it ; No chin this barber ever smooths !

What is it that she trims ? — Your pocket.

5o

BOOK TWO

XVIII

TWO OF A TRADE

I court your dinners, truth to tell, 'Tis mean as I’m aware ;

But you’re a parasite as well —

And so we are a pair.

I come to call, and hear that you Have gone to call elsewhere ;

Y ou cringe before a patron too — And so we are a pair.

In town I join your escort’s van And walk before you there ;

But you escort some other man — And so we are a pair.

If serve I must, a master free Shall be the boon I crave ;

Though ill that fate, ’tis worse to be The servant of a slave.

XIX

ON ZOILUS

To think that I would fawn on you For dinner — such a dinner too As yours, ah, what a fate !

He that could face your daintiest fare, Good Zoilus, had better share With Lazarus at the gate.

* XX

THE PURCHASED MUSE

Paul reads as his own all the poems he buys. Well, all that he pays for is his, I surmise.

5i

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

XXI

TO POSTUMUS

Some you embrace. Some by the hand you shake ; Which would I choose ? Your hand, for mercy's sake.

XXII

ON THE SAME

Oh, Phoebus and ye sisters nine,

Why plague your bard ? What sin is mine ?

What have I done amiss That Postumus, who distantly *

Has heretofore saluted me,

Now greets me with a kiss ?

XXIII

ON THE SAME

I will not give his name, although you press me, Let ‘ Postumus ’ suffice you in my verse.

He’s well avenged when e’er he doth caress me ; Dare I provoke and make his vengeance worse ?

XXIV

A DIALOGUE

Candidus

Martial

Candidus

If law your innocence abuse,

I’ll don the gown defendants use,

And paler far my cheek shall be Than though the danger threatened me ; If driven from our Motherland With you I’ll seek an alien strand,

For shoals and rocks are naught to dare With you an exile’s lot to share.

Well, fate has granted wealth to you. ’Twas meant for one and not for two.

52

BOOK TWO

Martial : But would you give the half of it ?

Candidus : That’s much to ask you must admit.

Martial : Will you give anything to me ?

What ? You refuse ? It’s plain to see What ‘ sharing ’ means ; your generous mood Gives me the ill and keeps the good.

XXV

TO GALL A

You always promise happiness And still your faith betray ;

If ‘ yes ’ means ‘ no ’ and ‘ no ’ means ‘ yes,’ Say ‘ no ’ to me I pray.

XXVI

TO BITHYNICUS

Though you hope that her cough will soon carry her off, For gasping and swooning is she,

Do not flatter yourself that you’ll finger her pelf ;

For her faint is a feint with an ‘ e.’

XXVII

CUPBOARD LOVE

Whene’er you plead in court or read your verses,

Watch Selius fishing for an invitation.

With wild applause your words he intersperses,

‘ Perfect,’ * Hear, hear,’ ‘ ’Tis said to admiration,’

‘ Bravo,’ * How grand the style ! ’ ‘ How good the matter ! ’ — Then you invite him, just to stop his chatter.

XXVIII

Rideto multum qui te, Sextille, cinaedum Dixerit et digitum porrigito medium.

Sed nec pedico es nec tu, Sextille, fututor, Calda Vetustinae nec tibi bucca placet.

Ex istis nihil es fateor, Sextille : quid ergo es ? Nescio, sed tu scis res superesse duas.

53

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

XXIX TO RUFUS

On a front bench to let the world admire He sits ; his jewelled fingers flash and glow,

Deeply his cloak has drunk the dyes of Tyre,

His robe is whiter than the virgin snow.

His locks diffuse their perfume all around,

White are his glittering arms without an hair,

New sandals daily on his feet are bound,

And softest hide is all that he can bear.

The crescent on his scarlet boot is seen,

His patch-bespangled brow bears many a star ;

Dost know the creature ? Strip his forehead clean, The brands thereon tell what his titles are.

XXX

TO GAIUS

I chanced to ask a loan — a hundred merely ;

E’en as a gift that should not task severely A wealthy friend, and so I asked him, knowing His pockets bulge with cash to overflowing.

‘ Go to the Bar/ says he, ‘ get rich by pleading ’ — Tis cash, not counsel, Gaius, that I’m needing.

* XXXI

THE PARAGON

I know Jenny well : she’s a right proper lass : Not a girl in the town can her kisses surpass.

XXXII

TO HIS PATRON

You would not plead my cause with Balbus, lest You might offend and lose his interest :

Against Licinus next I brought a suit ;

You thought him far too great to prosecute :

54

BOOK TWO

Though Patrobas should trespass on my held, He’s Nero’s freedman, so you bid me yield : Or if Laronia keep the slaves I lend her,

A rich old widow, you will not offend her.

To serve a servant is a lot abhorred ;

Let him be free who is my overlord.

XXXIII

TO PHI LAE N IS

You ask the reasons why I never do

Kiss you ?

Fair locks 1 love and you have none,

That’s one.

Your face is of the beetroot’s hue.

That’s two.

Your one blear eye can hardly see,

That’s three.

That act all nature might appal,

That’s all.

* XXXIV TO GALL A

To buy a young minion you’ve spent all your gold, And let your three children go hungry and cold, While you force him on you his male vigour to prove, Who are long past the age for legitimate love.

May you grow old together, and never another Embrace you but he, you unnatural mother.

* XXXV TO PHOEBUS

As your legs are as curved as the moon’s horns when new, Then your bath should be shaped like a drinking-horn too.

55

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

xxxvi

TO PANNYCHUS

I would not have you curl your hair, Though tangled locks I can’t endure ;

Trim hands and skin should never bear The patent signs of manicure.

Ape not the beardless Eastern style,

The culprit’s sloven chin abhor !

To pose as less than man is vile,

’Tis barbarous to pose as more.

Though manhood’s outward looks you wear In hirsute limb and bearded face,

Your mind the while is plucked and bare, Of manly growth there’s not a trace.

XXXVII

TO CAECILIANUS

Scarce was the dinner served, ere you Had swept away our every dish ; Sow’s udder, woodcock meant for two, Pig’s ear, the choicest kinds of fish, The lamprey and the chicken’s thigh. The pigeon stewed in sauces rare — And we, the hungry company,

Had nothing left to do but stare ! That bulging cloth, a dripping pack, Your slave bore off. Pretend or feel Some shame, and put our dinner back ; ’Twas not for your to-morrow’s meal.

XXXVIII TO LINUS

You ask me how my farm can pay, Since little it will bear ;

It pays me thus. — ’Tis far away And you are never there.

56

BOOK TWO

XXXIX

FINE FEATHERS

You took a woman off the street,

You gave her dresses rich and rare, And yet the penitential sheet

She might with greater fitness wear.

XL

ON TONGILIUS

Ague they say ! I know what his complaint is,

A case of greed suppressed and thirst unsated : Exhibit thrushes fat and other dainties ;

Red mullets too and pike are indicated ;

With fine old port his thirst should be abated,

And rare liqueurs stored in their slender bottles — The faculty have all miscalculated

Hydropathy won’t cure such fevered throttles.

XLI

TO MAXI MIN A

1 Laugh, maiden, laugh, if thou be wise,’ — Aye, that methinks was Ovid’s rede ; And yet not all doth he advise ;

But if he spake to all indeed The poet’s saw thou can’st not plead Who long are past thy maidenhood,

And hast, for teeth to serve thy need, Three stumps the hue of pitch or wood.

So if thou trust thy glass and me,

Put thoughts of laughter out of mind ; The merry mood is not for thee,

Nor for the fops a blustering wind.

These shun the jostling of their kind,

The beldame with her powdered grace Fears rain and is not glad to find Bright sunshine on her painted face.

57

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

Wear looks austere, like Priam’s Queen Or such as Hector’s consort wore,

And lest a smile should e’er be seen,

No plays or feasts for evermore !

All merriment must thou abhor With aught that might provoke to it ;

The depths of grief must thou explore, Away with quips and roguish wit,

And rather haunt some house of woe Where mourning widows sigh and moan, If mother’s tears or sister’s flow

Take thou their sorrows for thine own ; Be thine the Tragic muse alone,

And thus a wiser maxim keep —

Herein is crafty counsel shown —

‘ If thou be wise, weep, lady, weep.’

* XLII TO ZOILUS

The bath-water’s fouled when your buttocks you swill. Just put in your head ; ’twill be dirtier still.

* XLIII

TO CAN DI DUS

The proverb goes — * Let friends together proht.’ And this is your interpretation of it.

You sport a toga of Tarentine wool,

Such tufts as from the Parman flocks they pull : Mine is so old you’d think a bull had torn it,

Or that some scarecrow in the ring had worn it. Your Tyrian mantle’s one of Cadmus own :

My poor red cloak would scarce fetch half-a-crown. Your marble rounds on Indian ivory rest :

My table’s wood and is on drain-pipes pressed.

For you huge mullets lie in golden dish :

1 from red earthen plates eat red crawfish.

A troop of pages serve your every need :

I help myself and have no Ganymede.

‘ Profit ’ for you : for your poor friend f starvation.’ That of the proverb’s your interpretation.

58

XLIV

BOOK TWO

ON HUNKS

If Hunks should see me buy a coat,

A slave, or something worth a groat,

He shudders at my spendthrift whim,

And lest I beg a loan of him —

Though I have known him many a year — - He whispers so that I may hear : —

* Four thousand Sesterces are due To Phoebus, and Secundus too Is pressing for his debt, ’tis seven ; Philetus duns me for eleven :

I’ve not a farthing left to spend.’

How clever, my ingenious friend !

Were I to ask, refusing me Would wound your generosity ;

It needs must be a harder task Refusing what I do not ask.

* XLV

TO GLYPTUS

When your duty you never could do to your wife, Why offer yourself to the surgeon’s sharp knife ?

* XLVI

TO NAEVOL US

Gay as the flowers that Hybla shows in spring, What time the bees are plundering on the wing,

So shine your presses with their mantles bright,

So gleams your chest with evening wrappers white, Spoils of her flocks Apulia sent to you,

Enough to clothe a Roman tribe anew.

And yet — O shame — you look with careless eye Upon your friend who passes shivering by In threadbare coat, and do not think to give A rag or two to keep him just alive. ’

You would not feel the loss, you need not fear : The moths alone would be the sufferers here.

59

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

XLVII

Subdola famosae moneo fuge retia moechae, Leuior o conchis, Galle, Cytheriacis. Confidis natibus ? Non est pedico maritus : Ouae faciat duo sunt : irrumat aut futuit.

XLVIII

THE POETS NEEDS

Rufus, my simple tastes demand

But modest things to smooth my path, Good wine and food, a barber and A bath,

Chessmen, a board on which to play,

A friend whose tastes and mine agree, Some books but leaving the choosing pray To me.

A young and well-grown serving lad,

One maid if comely would not hurt, ’Twould keep him busy if he had A flirt.

Ah, friend, if you would give me these, Though in a small provincial home,

Td leave you all the luxuries Of Rome.

* XLIX ATTRACTION

* I won’t marry Betty : she’s too fond of men,’

* Well, boys find her charming.’ ‘ I’ll marry her then.’

L

Quod fellas et aquam potas, nil, Lesbia, peccas. Oua tibi parte opus est, Lesbia, sumis aquam.

60

BOOK TWO

LI

Vnus saepe tibi tota denarius area Cum sit et hie culo tritior, Hylle, tuo,

Non tamen hunc pistor, non auferet hunc tibi copo, Sed si quis nimio pene superbus erit.

Infelix uenter spectat conuiuia culi Et semper miser hie esurit, ille uorat.

LI I

THREE IN ONE

O bathing man, I like your plan Of counting, for I heard Stout Spatale was charged as three, And paid without a word.

LIII

TO MAXIMUS

You would be free, but cannot ? that’s a lie ; ’Tis easy, there’s a simple plan to try.

Cease hunting for choice dinners everywhere, And be content to drink vin ordinaire ;

Let gold inlay on Cinna’s table shine,

Nor envy him ; and wear a coat like mine, Waste not your substance on a courtesan ; Lodge simply — ’tis enough for any man.

Rule thus your mind to love but simple things And you’ll be freer than the Parthian Kings.

* LIV

TO LINUS

Your wife is not lacking in prudence or spite, And that she has shown very plain ;

She has bidden an eunuch to watch you at night, And thinks then you chaste will remain.

61

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

LV

TO SEXTUS

I offered love — you ask for awe ;

Then I’ll obey you and revere ;

But don’t forget the ancient saw That love will never dwell with fear.

* LVI

TO GALLUS

Those Libyan rogues accuse your wife of greed, And call her avaricious ; yes, indeed !

But such a charge of rankest falsehood savours ; She rather is too generous with her favours.

LVI I

THE DANDY

Just watch the fellow yonder stroll along !

The costliest of clothes he loves to wear,

And after him there comes a motley throng Of clients spruce and slaves with curly hair. His chair is gay and decked with curtains fair; Say you the smartest dandy in the town ?

Just now to buy a meal of plainest fare He pawned his only ring for half-a-crown.

LVI 1 1

TO ZOILUS

Your glossy clothes are superfine,

You mock my old ones and abhor them ; At least, if threadbare, they’re mine own,

I didn’t cheat the tailor for them.

62

BOOK TWO

LIX

THE BANQUETING-HALL

You know my name, ‘ The little feasting hall ’ ?

Take roses, unguents, wine, and feast withal ;

But gaze with me at Caesar’s dome which saith,

‘ A God was I — and died ! Forget not death.’

* LX

TO HYLLUS

My lad, it’s a captain’s good lady you’re meeting,

Though you think if you’re caught you’ll get off with a beating. He’s a sword and he’ll use it. ‘ Not legal ’ — you say.

Well, are they quite legal, your goings-on, pray ?

LXI

Cum tibi uernarent dubia lanugine malae, Lambebat medios improba lingua viros. Postquam triste caput fastidia uispillonum Et miseri meruit taedia carnificis,

Uteris ore aliter nimiaque aerugine captus Adlatras nomen quod tibi cumque datur. Haereat inguinibus potius tarn noxia lingua : Nam cum fellaret, purior ilia fuit.

LXII

Quod pectus, quod crura tibi, quod bracchia uellis, Quod cincta est breuibus mentula tonsa pilis, Hoc praestas, Labiene, tuae (quis nescit ?) amicae. Cui praestas, culum quod, Labiene, pilas ?

LXIII

TO MI L1C HUS

Your capital was always small,

Yet in the mart you gave The thousand pounds that made your all To buy a pretty slave.

63

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

For love that price was high to pay E’en with a bulging purse.

What’s that ? You’re not in love you say — • That makes the matter worse.

LXIV

TO TAURUS

Once at the Bar a longing look you cast,

Anon ’twas rhetoric you thought inspiring,

Now you are Nestor’s age, and nearly past The time when others think about retiring.

Begin, if rhetoric attracts you greatly,

There’s room for teachers — three have died just lately.

But should you think you lack the teacher’s skill Or spirit, or are doubtful of succeeding,

The courts have seethed with litigants, until The Marsyas himself might turn to pleading.

Delay no more — we’re growing tired of waiting —

Or you are like to die, still hesitating.

* LXV

A GRIEVOUS LOSS

‘ Why does friend Johnson wear that gloomy look ? ' Good cause,’ you say, ‘ this very morn I took My wife’s corpse to the grave.’ ‘ Oh dear, oh dear, Your rich old wife, no more we’ll see her here.

And all her money now is yours to spend !

I am indeed distressed, my worthy friend.’

* LXVI

TO LALAGE

Because one curl had come unbound I hear you took your glass And called your maid, and to the ground Struck down the hapless lass.

64

BOOK TWO

Cease, madam, pray, your hair to tire And fill your girls with terror.

A razor is what you require To make you like your mirror.

Why should they your caprice obey, And to your fancies pander.

Cut all those cruel locks away.

Or touch a salamander.

* LXVII

TO POSTUMUS

Whenever I meet you, wherever I go,

Ten times in one hour it is — f How do you do ? ’

That ‘ How do you do ? ’ is your first word each day : It is plain that there is not much doing your way.

* LXVIII TO OLUS

Call it not pride, no longer I Can greet you as your thrall.

I’ve won the cap of liberty,

Although it cost mine all.

The man whose mean desires accord With all that masters crave Must cringe ; but he shall need no lord Who doth not need a slave.

LXIX

TO CLASSIC US

All dinner invitations grieve you ?

I’m sorry, sir, I can’t believe you.

The famous epicures of Rome

Were always pleased to dine from home.

Why, if it bores you, should you go ?

‘ I must,’ you say — Ah yes, we know All parasites that plea advance.

But if you’re serious, now’s your chance : Friend Melior bids you dine to-day,

So play the man and say him nay.

65

E

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

LXX

Non uis in solio prius lauari

Ouemquam, Cotile. Causa quae, nisi haec est,

Undis ne fouearis irrumatis ?

Primus te licet abluas : necesse est Ante hie mentula quam caput lauetur.

LXXI

TO CAECILIANUS

One simple trick I note in you,

That when I read a verse or two,

You instantly begin to quote Catullus or some bard of note ;

You mean to compliment my verse Perhaps by citing something worse,

And though the contrast flatters me With its inferiority —

Assuming this intent alone,

’Twere better you should quote your own.

* LXXII TO POSTUMUS

A thing, I am told, happened yesterday night, Which I cannot approve, for I don’t think it right. Pm informed you received such a tempest of knocks As the pantaloon gets when they play Box and Cox. And, what’s more surprising, folk now are repeating Twas Caecilius gave you that most unkind beating. You declare it’s not true ; and I hope it as well,

But the fellow has witnesses, so people tell.

* LXXI II

Quid faciat uolt scire Lyris : quod sobria : fellat.

66

BOOK TWO

* LXXIV

TO MATERNUS

Behind and before him the clients pace slow Attending Saufeius wherever he go ;

Such crowds as great Regulus brings from the court When his client’s acquitted and cuts his hair short. Don’t envy him, friend, for his train of dependants : He borrows the money to pay their attendance.

* LXXV

IN THE CIRCUS

A lion wont to cower beneath the whip,

Within whose jaws the trainer oft would slip His hand unharmed, forgot its gentle ways And showed the fury of its Libyan days.

Two boys belonging to the youthful band,

Who with their rakes smooth out the bloody sand, The savage beast with fangs accursed slew—

A greater crime the circus never knew.

Well might we cry — ‘ Thou cruel thief, forbear. Learn from our Roman wolf young lives to spare.’

* LXXVI

THE BITER BIT

Your share of Marius’ estate Is just four pounds of battered plate. You thought you’d cornered him : i’ feg, The boot is on the other leg.

LXXVII

TO COSCONIUS

Try greasing wheels ; your taste reveals You might be fit for that ;

Nay, truth to tell, ’twould suit you well Because your wits are fat.

67

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

For length you damn my epigram !

Is Brutus’ boy too small ?

Your critic eyes perhaps despise Colossus as too tall ?

Tis plain indeed you never read Marsus or Pedo sage ;

One piece of each will often reach Beyond a single page.

A word remove and I will prove You do my poem wrong.

Your couplets are too long by far — That is two lines too long.

LXXVIII

TO CAECILIANUS

Your fish won’t keep in Summer-time ? Why not You can’t have tried the baths that you call hot.

* LXXIX TO N ASIC A

You only asked me when you know I’ve asked another man to dine. And, as to-day I eat at home,

Your invitation I decline.

* LXXX SELF SLAIN

While Fannius the foeman fled,

He madly pierced his side,

And, lest he should be stricken dead, By his own hand he died.

* LXXXI TO ZOILUS

Though in a gorgeous litter you may ride, It seems a pauper's bier when you’re inside.

68

BOOK TWO

LXXXII TO PON TIC US

Why maim your slave by cutting out The wretch’s tongue, you brute, When all the city talks about

Your crimes — though he is mute ?

* LXXXIII

TO A JEALOUS HUSBAND

You have robbed the young gallant of nostrils and ears, And his face now of both is bereft.

But your vengeance remains incomplete it appears ;

He has still got another part left.

LXXXIV

Mollis erat facilisque uiris Poeantius heros : Uolnera sic Paridis dicitur ulta Venus.

Cur lingat cunnum Siculus Sertorius, hoc est : Ab hoc occisus, Rufe, uidetur Eryx.

* LXXXV

A CHRISTMAS GIFT

A wicker flask with water iced inside I send you as my gift this Christmas-tide. You’ll say perhaps it does not suit the season. I want a summer suit : that is the reason.

LXXXVI TO CLASSICUS

Trick verses I would never plan — that is not my endeavour ; My lines read backwards will not scan on any scheme whatever ; You will not hear in verse of mine that feeble iteration Whereby doth echo tag each line — a Greek abomination.

69

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

And though no Attis here shall spout smooth doggerel — you know it ?

’Tis sound with all the sense left out — am I so vile a poet ? What if one bade a runner try contortions acrobatic ?

Ask Ladas this, and his reply methinks will be emphatic.

A silly task it is to make all difficulties double,

And foolery for fooling’s sake is merely wasted trouble.

Such tricks let dull Palaemon do, his dullards entertaining, And let me please the chosen few whose ear is worth the gaining.

* LXXXVII TO SEXTUS

You pretend for your kisses the girls are athirst, With your cheeks, like a diver’s, just ready to burst.

* LXXXVIII TO MAMERCUS

You never recite, though you pose as a poet.

Well, for that many thanks : we will gladly forgo it.

* LXXXIX TO GAURUS

I can pardon your habit of spending the night O’er the wine-cup ; for Cato in that did delight.

And though with your verses the Muses you sully,

I praise them ; for here you take pattern by Tully. When you vomit, you do as Mark Antony did ;

And your greed by Apicius’ shadow is hid.

But when you indulge in your beastliest tricks,

To find you a model I’m quite in a fix.

XC

TO QUINTILIAN

Guide of our wayward youth, whose golden tongue Is Rome’s delight and boast, if I am wrong In making haste to live whilst poor and young, Forgive me ; others dally all too long ,

BOOK TWO

These gather gold beyond their fathers’ dreams, Ancestral busts their crowded halls might fill — To me my smoke-stained cot more pleasant seems, The earth’s wild verdure and the running rill,

A comely slave, a kind but simple wife,

Nights of soft sleep and days unmarred of strife.

XCI

TO THE EMPEROR TITUS: A PETITION

Thou glory of the world, our destinies,

Our very faith in heaven, are stayed on thee. Should verse of mine find favour in thine eyes, Though often writ in haste, ’twill plead for me : Grant me a father’s right ; though fate’s decree Deny me fatherhood, that wrong redress ;

If I have failed, may this my comfort be.

And this the generous guerdon of success.

XCI I

THE PETITION GRANTED

Now with the rights of children three Caesar rewards my Muse and me.

And mateless I’ll remain.

The boon that one alone can give By his divine prerogative Must not be made in vain.

* XCIII

EPILOGUE. TO REGULUS

‘ Where’s number ONE,’ you say, ‘ if this book’s TWO ? * My first is shy, so what am I to do ?

But if in this the First you’d rather see,

Take one away, and then it ONE will be.

7 1

BOOK THREE

BOOK THREE

I

A PREFACE FROM GAUL

This verse from Gaul is alien born, Whatever be its worth,

And though the Roman garb adorn The land that gave it birth.

Should you prefer the former book, Yet I will not repine ;

Such preference I lightly brook Since both of them are mine.

Tis fit indeed that verse from Rome Should be the best of all.

For e'en a house-slave born at home Is better than a Gaul.

II

THE WISE CHOICE

My little book, who shall thy champion be ? Choose thee a patron soon, or, I foresee,

Snatched to a gloomy kitchen in a trice Thou shalt wrap dripping fish or pungent spice ; Thy clammy end the scullion shall decree ;

Sayst thou that to Faustinus thou wouldst flee ?

A happy choice — from ills shalt thou be free Safe in his cedar-scented paradise,

My little book,

For bindings rich no niggard hand hath he,

But thou shalt dwell a tome of high degree With bosses decked and many a gay device In purple rare or scarlet dyes of price.

And critics shall not dare to mangle thee,

My little book.

Ill

THE BATHER

You veil your only charm, a pretty face,

And show a form that frights the bathing-place. So, bidden by the water-nymphs, I pray,

Bathe fully dressed or cast your veil away.

75

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

IV

AN APOLOGY FOR ABSENCE

Seek Rome, my book, and if she question thee

Whence thou art come, say, ‘ Down Aemilian Road,’ And if she ask the place of my abode Tell her Cornelius’ Forum harbours me ;

Confess that here I sojourn to be free

From all her pomp and show, a weary load,

And shall return when I forget to be A bard and sing a jingling lyric ode.

* y

RECOMMENDA TIONS

Little book, starting off to great Rome all alone.

Would you have me commend you to many or one ?

One’s enough, pray believe me ; for he’ll love you well, Dear Julius, of whom you have oft heard me tell.

He lives by the Closed Colonnade, in the flat Which Daphnis some years ago used to live at.

Though you’re covered with dust when before her you stand His wife will give welcome with heart and with hand.

If you see them together, or him first, or her,

Just say — ’twill suffice — ‘ Marcus’ greetings I bear.’

A letter to strangers may strangers commend ;

There’s no need for long talk when you deal with a friend.

VI

TO MARCELLINUS

Your budding beard is shorn — the day Hath earned a double rite,

For on this lucky date in May Your father saw the light.

On him hath Fortune never frowned — To-day his life began In happiness that now is crowned —

His son becomes a man.

76

BOOK THREE

Vli

FREE DINNERS

Farewell thou paltry dole, no more The parboiled bath-man at the door Hands out the toil-worn client’s due. Poor starvelings, what a blow to you !

The bounty given in Nero’s day Is gone ! I know that ye will say,

‘ We’ll fence no more ; our cry shall be “ Fixed salaries and dinners free ! ” ’

VIII

IN THE COUNTRY OF THE BLIND

’Tis one-eyed Thais sets his love aglow ; She is half-blind — and he entirely so.

IX

ON CINNA

He publishes lampoons on me, ’tis said ; How can he publish who is never read ?

* X

THE SPENDTHRIFT

Young Scatterbag’s father while he was alive To him one pound per diem did pay ;

For he knew that a daily supply he must give,

Or the spendthrift would fling all away.

But now in his will he has put down his name As heir to the total estate —

’Twere better for him, and would come to the same, To have been disinherited straight.

77

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

XI

TO QUINTUS

Dear Quintus, why resent my joke ? The one-eyed hag of whom I spoke Was Thais, and your lady’s name Hermione — ’tis not the same Or similar. Had I said Thais,

Whereas your lady-love was Lais,

You might complain of that ; beside You swear your love is not one-eyed !

I called her lover * Ouintus ’ — true :

Let’s change to ‘ Sextus ’ — will that do ?

XII

TO FABULLUS

When yesterday we came to dine,

I own you gave us unguents fine,

But there was not a thing to eat.

Methinks a curious sort of treat.

Perhaps you thought your guests had died And came there to be mummified !

XIII

TO NAEVIA

You would not carve the hare : it was not basted, So you declared : the mullet went untasted :

The boar was more than high — our senses proved it You called it * over-fresh,’ and then removed it.

‘ Uneatable and raw,’ you kept repeating ;

In proof whereof you gave your cook a beating.

A vain excuse ; we’re safe beyond all question.

A meal of nothing gives no indigestion.

* XIV

THE CANCELLED DOLE

A starveling came from Spain of late ; But when he reached the city gate He heard about the dole in Rome,

And turned again to starve at home.

78

BOOK THREE

XV

THE TRUSTFUL SWAIN

None takes such low security

Though he is poor. My praise is just. For Cordus, tho’ he cannot see,

Accepts his lady-love on trust.

XVI

THE PARVENU

You give a gladiators’ show,

Vain cobbler Kinglet, prince of leather, A fortune to your awl you owe,

The sword destroys it altogether.

You’re drunk, no sober man would skin His pocket in this careless manner.

If you go on as you begin

You soon must be a worthless Tanner.

I hope your foolish whim is past ;

Here’s my advice, if you will take it ; Retrench — the chance may be your last, No prudent cobbler should forsake it.

* XVII

TRA NS FORM A TION

A tart passed at table was so very hot It burned people’s hands as to each man it got ; But Sam was still hotter to eat it ; and so He puffed out his cheeks and upon it did blow. The tartlet was cooled, nor could any one hurt ; But nobody touched it ; ’twas turned into dirt.

* XVIII

TO THE POET MAXIMUS

You began by remarking your throat was quite sore. We accept your excuse : but pray read us no more.

79

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

* XIX

THE BRONZE BEAR

Where beasts in effigy the plane-grove grace, Hard by the * Hundred Columns ’ has its place A bear in bronze. Young Hylas in its jaw Thrust his fair hand to try the gaping maw. But lo, a viper grim was lurking there,

Alert and far more deadly than the bear.

The boy knew nothing till he felt the sting. Shame that the bear was not a living thing !

* XX

THE MERRY SOUL

Tell me, my Muse, what Canius does this morn.

Does he record for ages yet unborn

The deeds of Claudius, or is his theme

The screeds that foolish scribblers Nero’s deem ?

Does he the jests of naughty Phaedrus try,

Epic severe and wanton elegy,

And don the buskin of, great Sophocles,

Or in the ‘ Poet’s Corner ’ loll at ease Telling gay stories full of Attic grace,

Or in the porch of Isis’ temple pace,

Or idly stroll along the portico,

Where Jason and his men their pictures show ? Perchance some bathhouse sees him take a dipper, Titus or Tigellinus or Agrippa ;

Or else he sits and walks quite free from care Amid the box-trees where Europa fair Enjoys the sun ; or in some snug retreat He and Lucanus and friend Tullus meet.

It may be that near Baiae’s steaming bay He idly sails the Lucrine all the day,

Or drives with Pollio those four short miles —

* Do you want to know what Canius does ? He smiles.’

* XXI

GOOD FOR EVIL

The slave he’d branded saved his proscribed lord,

Or rather shamed him : that’s the better word.

80

BOOK THREE

* XXll

TO APICIUS

You had spent sixty thousand on gorging your fill, And there only remained a poor ten thousand still. That to you was starvation ; so into your cup You poured deadly poison and drank the lot up.

You were always a gourmet, of that I am sure ;

But by death you were proved the complete epicure.

* XXIII

‘ TO BE CONSUMED ON THE PREMISES r

To your servants behind you you hand every dish : We’ll call it your footmen’s repast, if you wish.

* XXIV

A STRANGE ACCIDENT

A he-goat caught while gnawing down a vine Was dragged to die at Bacchus’ holy shrine.

A Tuscan priest prepared the rogue to slay And bade a rustic who had come that way With sickle sharp to geld the unclean beast,

Lest the rank odour should offend the feast. Then leaning o’er the altar with his knife He pressed it down to rob it of its life.

But as he leaned, a hernia came to view,

And the dull rustic without more ado Cut off the titbit, thinking, I suppose,

The gods were honoured by such meats as those. So he’s a Gaul who, when the rite began,

A Tuscan was, but now no more a man.

XXV

A FRIGID ORATOR

No one can bear your bath, so hot it is ;

But there’s a cure ; I’ll tell you what to do.

Bring Sabineius there ; a speech of his

Once froze the baths of Nero through and through.

8 1 F

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

XXVI

TO C AND I DUS

The harvest of your vast estate

And all the hoarded wealth you own, Your cup of gold and priceless plate Are all reserved for you alone.

Your Massic and Opimian rare For others are too exquisite,

And no man is allowed to share The products of your learned wit.

These things are yours, I don’t dispute So plain a fact : upon my life Your ownership is absolute

In all you have — except your wife.

XXVII

TO GALLUS

You ask me not to dine although I’ve often entertained you ;

If all your hosts were treated so I never had arraigned you ;

But you are mean to me alone,

So neither can be blameless ;

That I’m a fool I freely own And, Gallus, you are shameless.

* XXVIII

TO NESTOR

You wonder why Marius’ ear smells so vile ?

You’ve been whispering to him, good sir, quite a while.

XXIX

ON ZOILUS

Now Zoilus, the knight, to Saturn brings Fetters and chains ; they were his former rings.

82

BOOK THREE

xxx

TO GARGILIANUS

No money doles now patrons give, You’re fed but never feed ;

Yet still you try in town to live. And somehow you succeed.

Your coat is passing vile, ’tis true ;

You rent a dingy den ;

For these and for your pleasures too You sponge on other men.

‘ My costs of living,’ so you say,

‘ Are reasonably small.’

If reason be in question, pray,

Why should you live at all ?

* XXXI

TO RUFINUS

You possess, I allow it, wide acres of land,

And your houses in town spacious gardens command, Many debtors bow low to your full money-chests, And dishes of gold bear the meat at your feasts.

But don’t be too scornful, for Didymus of yore And to-day Philomdus possesses far more.

XXXII

TO MAT RON I A

’Tis not your age that makes me cold, That’s no impediment ;

But you are something more than old, You’re dead to all intent.

To Hecuba or Niobe

My heart perhaps had warmed,

But not when their humanity Was utterly transformed.

83

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

XXXIII

‘ GIVE ME FAIR AMARYLLIS'

I’d choose a maiden gently born ;

But if it may not be,

A slave-born maid I would not scorn Whose lord had set her free.

Or e’en a serving-wench at worst,

If these my love rebuff ;

Nay, I would choose the bond-maid first, If she were fair enough.

XXXIV TO CHIONE

You’re cold as snow — Ah, Chione, Your name and nature thus agree ; Yet is that name unfitting too —

For how can snow be dark like you ?

XXXV

ON A BAS-RELIEF

They’re Pheidias’ fish, engraved by him, Add water — and behold they swim.

* XXXVI TO FA BI ANUS

The duties you claim from a friend newly made You expect, Fabianus, by me should be paid.

To come every morning my patron to greet,

And follow your chair in the cold muddy street,

To be with you still at the close of the day,

When you bathe at Agrippa’s, right out of my way, And I bathe with Titus. Is this my reward For thirty long years of attentive regard ?

84

BOOK THREE

I’ve always been ready and zealous in office,

But yet you esteem me no more than a novice.

My toga — I bought it myself — has worn thin :

Don’t you think now my time of discharge might begin ?

XXXVII

A MEAN TRICK

Rich friends, ’ tis your fashion to get in a passion With humble dependants, or feign it.

Though not very nice, ’tis a saving device, Economy bids you retain it.

XXXVIII

LIFE IN ROME

Martial :

Sextus :

Martial :

Sextus :

Martial :

Sextus : Martial : Sextus : Martial :

What motive, Sextus, brings you up to town ? Some idle hope of fortune or renown ?

I’ll be a pleader : all our courts shall know I am more eloquent than Cicero.

So Civis thought and Atestinus too,

— You know them — but their rent is overdue. If that should fail, my verses might atone ; They’re worthy Virgil’s pen, as you will own. The man is mad ; our Virgils you may meet And threadbare Ovids, cowering in the street. I’ll find a patron — others have before —

And all have starved excepting three or four.

I mean to live here — -tell me how I can.

By luck alone, if you’re an honest man.

XXXIX

ONE EYE BETTER THAN NONE

As fair as Ida’s swan is he Lycoris dotes upon.

Well can that one-eyed beldame see Tho’ half her sight is gone !

85

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

* XL

TO TELESINUS

Just because from the wealth that your coffers contain You consented a thousand to lend,

You think you've obliged me : but let me explain,

It’s the one who repays that’s the friend.

* XLI

ON AN EMBOSSED GOBLET

Set on this bowl, by Mentor’s hand portrayed, The lizard lives ; to touch we are afraid.

XLII

TO POLLA

You daub your face and think I shall not see Your wrinkles. You deceive yourself, not me. A small defect is nothing when revealed ;

But greater seems the blemish ill concealed.

XLIII

TO LAETINUS

You seem a youth to look upon.

You dyed your hair — and lo,

The locks once whiter than a swan Are blacker than a crow.

Not everyone can you deceive And, though you hide the grey, Yet Proserpine will not believe But snatch the mask away.

86

BOOK THREE

XL1V

TO LIGURINUS

At your approach the neighbours flee,

What is the cause that makes them flout you.

And that wherever you may be

A desert seems to spread about you ?

A tigress of her whelps bereft

May fill the bravest heart with terror ;

Untouched the basking snake is left And handling scorpions is an error ;

But you provide a peril worse —

Tis this, you overact the poet ;

When you persist in reading verse,

Could any patience undergo it ?

For though I run or stand or sit

With verse my ears are still blockaded ;

Aye, at the baths I must submit,

My privy chambers are invaded,

You stop me on my way to dine,

Then wearied by your droning numbers

My seat at table I resign —

I fall asleep — you break my slumbers.

Observe the evil that you do.

Though good, men hold you as pernicious ;

And thus an upright bore like you Makes even virtue look suspicious.

XLV

TO THE SAME

Did Phoebus flee Thyestes’ feast ?

No faithful record still endures.

But I, his bard, must be released From yours.

You keep a splendid table — true,

To tempt the jaded appetite,

Yet is the feast in vain — for you Recite.

Away with fine and dainty fish,

Away be all the mushrooms flung,

You spoil my palate with a dish Of tongue.

87

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

* XL VI

TO C AND I DUS

My attendance as client you claim without end.

I don't come myself, but my freedman I send.

‘ That’s not the same thing ’ — Nay, it’s more, I will swear it. I can scarcely keep up with your chair ; he will bear it,

He will thrust people back if you get in a crush ;

My elbows are weak and too well-bred to push.

At your stories in court I find nothing to say ;

But he’ll shout ‘ bravo ’ with a deafening bray.

If a law-suit you have, he will bellow abuse ;

My shyness forbids me strong language to use.

You will say — ‘ You, my friend, have an easy task got ’ — Not so : I will do all my freedman can not.

* XLVII

‘ FRESH FROM THE TOWN ’

Where drips the Capene gate with drops of rain, Where Almo cleans the Mother’s knife of stain, Where the Horatian field with crops is green, Where young Alcides’ shrine is crowded seen ; There Bassus in his travelling carriage rode, Bringing of country crops a mighty load ;

Great cabbages, and leeks of either kind,

Coss lettuces and beets you there might find, Useful to sluggish stomachs, fat field-fares Strung on a hoop, and with them Gallic hares And sucking pigs ; the very footmen bore Eggs wrapped in hay, as they ran on before.

‘ Bassus was coming back to town ? ’ — you say : No : in the country he was going to stay.

* XLVII I

A POOR INVESTMENT

V riend Olus sold his land, that he might get The cash to build a dainty maisonette.

The bill came in ; and now, as he confesses, That maisonette is all that he possesses.

88

BOOK THREE

XLIX

THE MEAN HOST

Yourself you drink a vintage rare While giving me vin ordinaire.

To smell the heel-taps of your wine Is better far than drinking mine.

* L

TO LIGURINUS

You never your friends, sir, to dinner invite Except when you have some bad verse to recite.

We have scarcely sat down when on our weary ears Comes the sound of ‘ Book One,' ere the hors-d’oeuvre appears. You read through Book Two while the entree we wait ;

Book Three makes dessert and the savoury late.

Then comes Number Four and at last Number Five :

Even dainties so frequent a surfeit would give.

If you won’t to the waste-paper merchant consign Your poems, in future alone you must dine.

* LI

TO GALL A

Whene’er I praise your legs and arms. Your eyes and rosy cheeks admire, You whisper low — ‘ My hidden charms A deeper wonder will inspire.’

And yet whenever I suggest A bath together, you say no.

Perhaps you fear that when undressed Without my clothes / shall not do.

* LI I

TO TONGILIANUS

You purchased a house for two thousand or so ;

A misfortune too frequent at Rome, as we know,

Saw it burned to the ground in a night.

A subscription was started, and ten thousand pound You received. Well, I hope that it will not be found It was you set the building alight.

89

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

LIII

TO CHLOE

You boast a pretty face and arms,

So fair you think that none can flout them,

A pretty foot and other charms,

But, Chloe, I can do without them ;

’Twere empty toil to specify

Each several grace — I wonder whether Eve made it clear to you that I Could do without you altogether.

* LIV TO GALL A

You need not consider or make an ado :

I can’t pay your price : so of course you’ll say no.

* LV

TO GELLIA

When we see you, we think of a perfumer’s shop, Or a cinnamon-jar brimming over the top.

Don’t fancy such nonsense attracts men you meet My dog, if I scent her, will smell just as sweet.

* LVI

A THIRSTY LAND

At Ravenna a cistern will vineyards outshine, For water is here far more precious than wine.

LVII

WATER v. WINE

Mine host at Ravenna’s a rascally cheat ;

I ordered mixed wine and he gave it me neat.

90

BOOK THREE

* LV11I

TO BASSUS

The house Faustinus owns near Baiae’s coasts No widowed elms, no close-clipped boxes boasts,

No myrtle groves extending far and wide ;

His is the true, the artless countryside.

In every corner sacks of grain recline,

And many a jar smells sweet of ancient wine ;

When autumn’s gone and winter days begin The rough-clad pruner brings the last grapes in;

Bulls fiercely roar, as in deep vales they stray,

And steers as yet unhorned pine for the fray ;

About the farmyard poultry wander free ;

Shrill geese and jewelled peacocks you may see ;

There guinea-fowl and speckled partridge stand,

And pheasants from the impious Colchian’s land,

And birds that from their redness get their name.

And haughty cocks, each with his Rhodian dame ;

From the high cotes resounds a soft lament,

Turtles and ringdoves with the pigeons blent.

Fat piglets give the bailiff’s wife no rest,

And tender lambs await their mother’s breast ;

Young home-born slaves flock round the hearth each night. And by the household gods the logs burn bright.

No pale-faced servants here as vintners toil,

No wrestling-masters waste the precious oil ;

For greedy thrush a crafty snare they set.

Or trap young roe-deer in a hunting-net,

Or catch the fish with line and quivering rod ;

Nor do the town-slaves wait the tutor’s nod To get to work, but labouring with good-will In merry mood the fruitful garden till,

While long-haired boys the bailiff swift obey ;

And even eunuchs find that work is play.

His country guests come not with empty hands :

A round of cheese from Sassina’s forest lands,

Or yellow honey in the comb safe hid,

Or drowsy dormice, or a bleating kid,

Or gelded capon ; and each sturdy maid In baskets brings the eggs her hens have laid ;

When work is done his neighbours come to dine,

All share the meal nor do the slaves repine,

Or grudge the guests their fill : he does not borrow From to-day’s dish to serve a feast to-morrow.

9i

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

But you, my friend, in your suburban seat Win but starvation from your garden neat ;

From your high towers you see but laurel leaves, Nor need your garden god have fear of thieves ; Your labourers are fed on corn from Rome,

And you import to your gay country home Greens, apples, poultry, eggs, and wine, and cheese. Mansions in town, not farms, need things like these.

* LIX

‘ TIMES ARE CHANGED ’

At Bononia a cobbler furnished a show,

At Matina a bleacher : I’m wondering now At what sort of town we may possibly see An innkeeper give people circus-games free.

* LX

TO PONTIC US

To-day I dine with you at my own cost,

So why not fare the same, both guest and host ? You swallow Lucrine oysters large and fat,

I suck a whelk and cut my lips at that.

You’re served with mushrooms, I chew fungus still You have to do with turbot, I with brill.

Plump yellow doves your appetite assuage,

I have a magpie starved within its cage.

I’m by your side and yet I’m far away.

The dole has gone. Let’s fare the same, I say.

LXI

TO CINNA

Your impudent demands to mask, You always say that what you ask Is — nothing — but, if that be true, What I refuse is nothing too.

92

BOOK THREE

* LXII

TO QUINTUS

For a slave you will pay a cool thousand, or double ; For a cup forty pounds : to pay gives you no trouble. King Numa laid down the choice wine that you drink ; Your furniture cost you ten thousand, I think.

For the price of your carriage a farm you might own ; Your hackney is worth a fine mansion in town.

You imagine that taste just depends on your purse ; But the truth is, my friend, it is just the reverse.

LXIII

TO COTILUS

You’re quite a pretty spark I heard, for many folk main- tain it ;

What is the meaning of the word ? pray, Cotilus, explain it.

‘ Observe,’ you say, ‘ my curly hair — the style is just invented —

With cinnamon and balsams rare I’m elegantly scented,

I hum the last Egyptian song, the newest dance from Cadiz, And loll in boudoirs all day long to gossip with the ladies :

My pretty nothings soft and low I whisper with devotion,

My lily hands and gestures show the poetry of motion.

To read and answer little notes make up my daily labours,

In horror of their vulgar coats I always shun my neighbours, And at the races I can tell the sires of all the winners.’

That all, my friend ? You can’t go on ? Then I don’t want to see one,

And save in Little Peddington would any choose to be one ?

* LXIV

THE CLUB BORE

The sirens, who on sailors brought The jocund death themselves had sought,

Their spite Ulysses knew to foil :

He heard, yet robbed them of their spoil.

Great is his fame ; but greater glory

’Twere to escape old John when he begins a story.

93

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

* LXV

TO DIADUMENUS

Fruit-laden breath on maiden’s lips. Effluence that from safran drips,

Odour of vines in early May,

Fragrance that comes from new-mown hay. Earth steaming wet with summer showers, Nard which from rosy chaplets pours, Myrtle and amber, eastern scents.

Fires glowing pale with frankincense —

As sweet as all of these your kiss —

So grudge me not my fill of bliss.

* LXVI

ON THE MURDER OF CICERO

The triumvir’s sword that Tully robbed of life Was full as guilty as the Egyptian knife,

For he excelled all pleaders at the bar As much as laurelled Pompey shone in war ; And Antony but poor excuse can bring :

He served himself ; Pothinus served his king.

* LXVII

THE LAZY BOATMEN

My lads, you naught of rowing know ;

You’re lazy, Pm afraid.

More sluggish than the shallow tide Where dips your languid blade.

The sun has climbed to heaven’s height, His steeds all panting seem And now the hour of midday rest Unyokes the weary team.

You puli along the placid waves ;

But with unstraightened back.

The boat is safe ; you take your ease ; Your tars not jack but slack.

94

BOOK THREE

LXVIII A WARNING

Matron, this book for you is writ,

Thus far : you ask about the rest ?

’Tis meant for men like me — its wit Perhaps is somewhat scantly dressed.

’Tis stripped quite bare to run its race And cannot wear a modest guise —

The wrestling-ground and bathing-place Are sights unmeant for matron’s eyes.

The rose’s scent, the flowing bowl,

Have wrought on my Terpsichore,

Henceforward she doth scorn control And recks not that her speech is free.

As when Priapus’ figure stands

O’er garden-plots his watch to keep,

Prudes veil their face with modest hands And yet between their fingers peep.

So you had laid aside the book As dull and wearisome to you ;

But now will take another look

Thereon — and read the volume through.

* LXIX

TO COSCONIUS

In your poems there’s nothing the modest to vex, Not a line in the lot that makes mention of sex.

For myself, I confess it, my books are too free,

And I praise and I wonder at your purity.

Let ladies of pleasure and naughty young men And amorous elders delight in my pen :

But the chaste decent verses, which to us you sing, For vestals and children will be quite the thing.

* LXX

TO SCAEVINUS

The wife you divorced, who has married her lover, You’re trying again on the sly to recover.

From the fact she’s another’s fresh charm she derives, And the danger a zest to adultery gives.

95

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

LXXI

Mentula cum doleat puero, tibi, Naeuole, cuius, Non sum diuinus, sed scio quid facias.

LXXII

Vis futui nec uis mecum, Saufeia, lauari.

Nescio quod magnum suspicor esse nefas.

Aut tibi pannosae dependent pectore mammae Aut sulcos uteri prodere nuda times Aut infinito lacerum patet inguen hiatu Aut aliquid cunni prominet ore tui.

Sed nihil est horum, credo, pulcherrima nuda es.

Si uerum est, uitium peius habes : fatua es.

LXXI 1 1

Dormis cum pueris mutuniatis,

Et non stat tibi, Galle, quod stat illis.

Quid uis me, rogo, Phoebe, suspicari ?

Modern credere te uirum uolebam, vSed rumor negat esse te cinaedum.

* LXXIV

TO GARGILIANUS

Do you shrink from a barber that you smooth your cheek With salve, and with plaster a hair-clearance seek ?

Well, how will you manage to pare your long nails ?

With them neither resin nor gypsum avails.

Nay, cease thus your wretched old noddle to shame :

Let girls, if they wish it, indulge in that game.

LXXV

Stare, Luperce, tibi iam pridem mentula desit, Luctaris demens tu tamen arrigere.

Sed nihil erucae faciunt bulbique salaces Inproba nec prosunt iam satureia tibi. Coepisti puras opibus corrumpere buccas :

Sic quoque non uiuit sollicitata Venus.

Mirari satis hoc quisquam uel credere possit, Quod non stat, magno stare., Luperce, tibi ?

96

BOOK THREE

* LXXVI TO BASSUS

A maid you scorn, a crone for mistress have, And court old dames with one foot in the grave. Yours must indeed an amorous frenzy be. Hecuba you love, you hate Andromache.

* LXXVII

SUSPICIOUS TASTES

You do not like fieldfares, you do not like mullet ; Neither hare nor roast boar ever passes your gullet. Sweet cakes and hot rolls to you both are unpleasant ; You never have partridge, you never have pheasant. But capers and onions you eat soaked in brine ; Falernian you shun, but you drink resined wine.

Dry sprats you think tasty and pale salted tunny,

And meat from a ham that’s decidedly funny.

There’s something suspicious, that’s quite understood, When a man prefers filth and avoids wholesome food.

LXXVIII

Minxisti currente semel, Pauline, carina. Meiere uis iterum ? iam Palinurus eris.

* LXXIX

‘ PERSEVERANTIA VINCIT ’

Jack keeps starting new games ere the old ones are over : I think he must be a most incomplete lover.

* LXXX TO APICIUS

You do not find fault and you do not backbite ;

But there’s something about you that is not quite right.

97 G

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

LXXXI

Ouid cum femineo tibi, Baetice Galle, barathro ?

Haec debet medios lambere lingua uiros.

Abscisa est quare Samia tibi mentula testa,

Si tibi tam gratus, Baetice, cunnus erat ? Castrandum caput est : nam sis licet inguine Gallus, Sacra tamen Cybeles decipis : ore uir es.

* LXXXII

SORDID SPLENDOUR

Whoe’er can endure with Zoilus to dine

At a supper with drabs by the walls might recline,

Or drink, even sober, from Leda’s cracked jar,

For it’s cleaner than he is and sweeter by far.

He sprawls on a couch which he fills all alone,

And with elbows thrust out takes three places for one, Propped on purple silk cushions in saffron green coat With a minion beside him to tickle his throat Or hand him a toothpick, and lying below A woman to fan him and cool his hot brow.

A boy with a myrtle branch keeps off the flies,

And a dexterous masseuse her nimble art plies Rubbing all his limbs over with wide-stretched-out hand, While a eunuch stands waiting his finger’s command,

And holding his drunken lord’s person with care The voided stream guides to the full earthenware.

The great man himself to the crowd at his feet,

Where the lap-dogs are gnawing their goose-liver meat, Turns and throws bits of ham for his wrestlers to seize And with turtle-doves’ rumps tries his minion to please. We quaff poor new wine from Liguria’s hills Quickly mellowed by smoke ; for his jesters he fills A cup of bright crystal or veined alabaster With Opimian nectar to drink to their master.

Though himself he is drenched in the costliest scent He feels it no shame in gold shells to present Us with grease that is used for their hair by poor whores, And when he’s quite drunk, he just lies back and snores ; While we still at table must even refrain From toasting each other, and silent remain.

That’s the treatment we get at Sir Malchio’s feast ;

And we can’t pay him back, he is such a foul beast.

98

BOOK THREE

* LXXXI1I

TO CORDUS

You advise me to write shorter poems, my friend.

‘ Let Chione show you the trick.’

With her the beginning is also the end.

For myself, I cannot be as quick.

LXXXIV

Quid narrat tua moecha ? non puellam Dixi, Gongylion. quid ergo ? linguam.

* LXXXV

TO A JEALOUS HUSBAND

What ailed you to cut off the young gallant’s nose, And leave all unscathed the prime source of your woes.

LXXXVI

TO A MATRON

These pages were not meant for you That was distinctly understood,

Yet you are reading them — I knew You would.

Dear prude, through many plays you’ve sat.

Read on, nor fear my coarsest verse ;

The scenes you often chuckle at Are worse.

* LXXXVII TO CHIONE

They tell me, dear lady, you’ve always lived chaste And your limbs by a lover have ne’er been embraced. Yet for them at the baths a close cover’s supplied :

It’s your face, in my judgment, you rather should hide.

99

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

LXXXVI1I

Sunt gemini fratres, diuersa sed inguina lingunt. Dicite, dissimiles sunt magis an similes ?

* LXXXIX TO PHOEBUS

By the look of your face I should say — * Change your diet.’ Some lettuce or mallow will purge you : just try it.

* XC

INCONSTANCY

She will and she will not. I really can’t say

’Twixt her will-not and will what she means — Yea or Nay.

* XCI

THE PRIESTS OF CYBELE

A soldier was coming back home to Ravenna With Achillas, a pretty young runaway, when a Band of effeminate priests came along And the soldier joined up with the castrated throng.

The priests asked the boy where in bed the pair lay ;

For they thought that on him a foul trick they would play. But he saw their intention and cunningly lied —

‘ My place,’ he declared, ‘ is the outermost side.’

After supper the priests, when the two were asleep,

Took a knife and in silence towards them did creep,

And proceeded the outermost partner to geld While the boy his safe place on the inner side held.

We have seen how a stag saved the maiden of old :

But here for a stag we a phallus behold.

XCII

Ut patiar moechum rogat uxor, Galle, sed unum. Huic ego non oculos eruo, Galle, duos ?

ioo

UNIVERSITY OF VICTORIA

i i n a n \/

BOOK THREE

* XCIII

TO VETUSTILLA

Of consuls you have seen quite fifteen score,

Of hairs you’ve three, of teeth you’ve only four, Grasshopper’s breast, ant’s legs and colour pale, Forehead more wrinkled than a woman’s veil.

Your breasts hang loose as spiders’ webs, the while Your mouth gapes open like a crocodile.

Ravenna’s frogs and gnats may be no joke But they are more agreeable than your croak.

An owl in daylight can see just as well,

A he-goat has a more attractive smell.

Your back should to a skinny duck belong,

Your front a Cynic even finds too strong.

The bathman has to put his lantern out Ere you can join the drabs who roam about The tombs at night in search of some stray lover. For you in August winter’s still not over.

And even fever cannot now suffice

To warm your limbs and melt your ancient ice.

But yet you yearn for marriage, I am told,

After two hundred trials and are bold Enough to think a man will feel desire For your cold ashes and your burnt-out fire.

Bid such a one the solid rock to hoe ;

For how could you your wifely duties do,

When you as ‘ grandmother ’ are now addressed ? Nay, if you want your shaking limbs caressed,

Go, get a bedstead from the realms beneath And let your bridegroom be the Lord of Death, While body-burners tend the new-made bride And with their torches warm your wrinkled side.

* XCIV

TO RUFUS

You call for a whip, crying out that the hare Has been sent up half-raw to the table. You can’t cut its flesh, as you loudly declare, But to cut up the cook you’ll be able.

IOI

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

XCV

TO NAEVOLUS

You greet no man till first he says ‘ Good day ’ ;

Even a talking crow is more polite ;

Why should I yield you this precedence pray ;

Are you my better by repute or right ?

Two Caesars praised me, and for my renown A father’s due is mine, in spite of fate,

My fame and works are known in every town,

No posthumous reward I need await.

That I was tribune all the world doth know,

You are debarred from sitting with the knights ; You boast a few dependants ; many owe,

By Caesar’s grace, to me their Roman rights.

And yet you have a claim I freely own And hold one title I cannot gainsay.

In vice you stand pre-eminent alone ;

I yield precedence. Naevolus, Good day !

* XCVI

TO GARGILIUS

J ust because you once kissed my dear girl on the sly, You go bragging that you are her lover.

If you do it, Gargilius, when I am by,

Your boasting will soon be all over.

* XCVII

TO RUFUS

Let Chione not read this book,

Which does her charms attack ;

Tor if I don’t misjudge her look,

She’ll get her own well back.

XCVI 1 1

Sit cuius tibi quam macer, requiris, Paedicare potes, Sabelle, culo.

102

BOOK THREE

xcix

TO THE COBBLER PARVENU

Nay, why resent the jest I made ?

Your anger pray subdue ; i only pointed at your trade,

Good cobbler, not at you.

Let not the harmless line I wrote Your enmity provoke ;

You slit a gladiator’s throat —

May I not crack a joke ?

C

A BOON FROM HEAVEN

The rain at midday, when I sent to you,

Must needs have soaked both book and bearer through. How excellently timed ! The sky no doubt Sent down its flood to wash my blunders out.

io

D

BOOK FOUR

BOOK l-'OUR

* | •

DOM ITI AN’S BIRTHDAY

0 happy day, more hallowed than the morn When on consenting Ida Jove was born,

Come oft I pray and Nestor’s years outrun, Matching our Emperor’s glory with thy sun.

Long may he Pallas court, in Alba’s gold,

Long in proud hand the oak-leaf garland hold,

And even when a hundred years have flown May the Great Games still see him on the throne. A wondrous gift, yet owed to earth by fate !

And for a god so high no vows can seem too great.

II

THE HAPPY CHANCE

Horatius sat the games to see, Unseemly black he wore ;

Tho’ all were clad in white save he From churl to senator.

Then fell the snow (for heaven conspired To set the error right),

Until, more decently attired,

Horatius sat in white.

Ill

THE SNOWSTORM IN THE CIRCUS

The silent snow a fleece doth cast On Caesar’s breast and flecks his hair, He scorns the frost and frozen blast And humours Jove, half unaware.

Who spurned Bootes and the Bear With dripping locks, may well defy Those flakes — the toys his little heir Has dropped while playing in the sky. 107

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

* IV

TO BASS A

Stench from the pools of marshes newly drained, Vapours from springs that bubble sulphur-stained, Reek of a fish-pond old and salt and black,

Of he-goat straining on his partner’s back,

Of soldiers’ boots, when they have been long worn, Of Jews who take no food on Sabbath morn,

Of fleeces dipped too much in purple dye,

Of criminals as loud they sob and sigh ;

Leda’s foul lamp whose fumes the ceiling soil, Ointment that’s made from lees of Sabine oil,

A fox in flight, a viper in her lair,

All these compared with you are perfumes rare.

V

SUCCESS

What brings you, friend, to Rome ? You so upright So poor and (worse) sincere in word and heart !

How can you play the pimp or parasite,

Or stoop to act the vile informer’s part ?

Or would you join the foul seducer’s tribe,

Betray a friend, court passion-freezing hags,

Feign friendship with the great, to get a bribe,

Roar hired applause when Canus’ acting flags ?

* A loyal friend am I and worthy trust,’ •

You say. Poor honest wretch ! no hope is there,

Here such an one shall never earn a crust,

Whilst Philomelus dies a millionaire.

* VI

TO MALI SI AN US

A poet at Stella’s attempted to gull us By reading us verse in the style of Tibullus,

The low dirty rogue ; but I’d have you to know He is not so dirty or roguish as you

Who pretend that your cheeks are with soft blushes laden, And wish us to fancy that you are a maiden.

108

BOOK FOUR

* Vll

TO HYLLUS

Yesterday you gave a kiss, Now from me you fly ;

Tell me, pray, the cause of this Wanton cruelty.

‘ I am growing old,’ — you say,

‘ And must careful be/

Nay, it was but yesterday When you kissed me !

VIII

THE DAILY ROUTINE

Exacting patrons claim the first two hours,

The third doth show the raucous pleader’s powers,

The fourth and fifth in business Rome doth spend,

The sixth gives pause, the seventh brings labour’s end ; The eighth to manly sports and baths assign,

And at the ninth take cushioned ease and dine ;

The tenth should be the season for my books.

When by your care, Euphemus, and the cook’s,

On food ambrosial god-like Caesar sups And drains the nectar from but modest cups ;

Then usher in my little jests I pray —

Jove is too busy earlier in the day.

* IX

A DEGENERATE DAUGHTER

Dr Goodman’s young daughter has taken a lover, And for his fine eyes thrown her own .husband over ; She’s giving him money too. Oh, what a shame ! She does not live up to the family name.

X

TO FAUSTINUS WITH HIS BOOK

The scroll is new, still rough at either end,

The ink, scarce dry, no careless touch may brook, Yet haste and bear it to my dearest friend ;

Ere he has seen, none else thereon shall look :

109

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

Go armed, my slave. As comrade for the book Take this large sponge, a fitting gift to send.

A pen might not avail to mend each joke,

But this can do it at a single stroke.

* XI

TO ANTONIUS SATURNINUS, A REVOLTING

GOVERNOR

The name of Saturninus you refused,

And in vain pride Antonius only used,

When ’neath the northern Bear you roused such strife, As he who warred with his Egyptian wife.

Hadst thou forgotten, wretch, thy namesake’s fate Crushed by God’s vengeance in the Actian strait,

Or did Rhine promise what the Nile ne’er gave ?

Didst think more might was in the Arctic wave ? Antony beneath our swords his lot did rue ;

And he a Caesar was compared to you.

* XII

THE UNIVERSAL PROVIDER

At night no man do you refuse, And what is worse, dear Nancy, There’s nothing you refuse to do, Whatever be his fancy.

XIII

AN EP1THALAMIUM

Pudens to-day his Claudia doth claim In love united,

A blessing, Hymen, on the twofold flame Thy torch hath lighted.

These are as honey poured in rarest wine ;

Could aught be meeter ?

Not cinnamon with spikenard could combine In fragrance sweeter.

1 10

BOOK FOUR

Beside this tender vine her elm doth tower His might to give her.

She is the myrtle sweet, the lotus flower,

And he her river.

Fair Concord ever o’er their lives preside Unviolated ;

Dear Venus bless the bridegroom and the bride So fitly mated ;

And may the coming years so far and dim No change discover,

But she be loving still and fair to him,

Her grey-haired lover.

* XIV

TO SILIUS ITALICUS

Pride of our Muses, who in deathless strain Dost prove the tricks of frenzied foemen vain, And make the wiles of Hannibal to yield To gallant Scipio on Zama’s field,

Prithee, dear Silius, banish for a while These tasks severe, and on my verses smile. When mad December with her dice-box rattles, Forget thy tale of sieges and of battles.

And in these days of mirth and mischief choose The merry triflings of my sportive Muse.

So gay Catullus once, O noble friend,

To mighty Maro did his ‘ Sparrow ’ send.

XV

TO CAECILIANUS

Ten pounds you asked ; then, failing to persuade me (Though in a week it was to be repaid me),

You said a guest was due upon the morrow,

And so my silver-plate you tried to borrow.

Are you a fool or I ?— ’Twere hardly thrifty To save the ten and give the worth of fifty !

1 1 1

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

* XVI

TO GALLUS

To your father’s young wife in his lifetime you were Something more than a stepson, so people aver.

It could not be proved while he lived, it is true,

But now he’s departed she still stays with you.

It’s a case ; were great Tully alive he could lend you No aid, nor could Regulus even defend you.

When she chooses your stepmother still to remain She was never a proper stepmother, that’s plain.

* XVII TO PA ULUS

‘ Write a piece to Lycisca,’ you bid me, ' that she May blush with annoyance her portrait to see.’ You’re an artful, sly fellow, and that you must own ; You want by yourself to enjoy her alone.

* XVIII

THE LIQUID DAGGER

O cruel fate. Where now is death not found ? What licence is not yours when waters wound ? Where the gate drips hard by Vipsania’s Hall, And from the slippery stones the raindrops fall, On a boy’s throat as he passed by beneath The frozen water fell— and brought him death : A weighted dagger ; then, its fell task done,

In his warm flesh it melted, and was gone.

* XIX

WITH THE GIFT OF A CLOAK

This cloak that on Sequanian looms was born, A gift right welcome on a winter’s morn,

I send you now : in Sparta it is famed,

Though it be rough, and endromis is named. Whether well-oiled you wrestle in the lists,

Or punch the light-stuffed ball with eager fists,

1 12

BOOK FOUR

Or in the dust the flying bladder chase,

Or seek to conquer Athas in the race,

Twill serve to keep the cold from heated limbs And save you from the rainstorm’s sudden whims. Your Tyrian muslins are but shelter vain ;

Clad in this gift you’ll laugh at wind and rain.

XX

OLD AND YOUNG

Caerellia, but a chit, apes womanhood. Old Gellia affects a skittish mood :

How can one bear with either, and adjust The divers claims of laughter and disgust ?

XXI

THE TEST OF FACTS

When Segius declaims he knows

That Heaven is void and gods are not, It is because his record shows That knaves may have a prosperous lot.

* XXII

THE BATHER

Fair Nelly, just wedded and still a coy bride,

To escape from embraces plunged in the bright tide.

But the treacherous water refused to conceal her,

And the deeper she plunged, the more clear did reveal her. So shut in clear glass you may count lilies white,

So crystal displays a red rose-bud to sight.

I leaped in behind her, and snatched a sly kiss,

Though the water prevented perfection of bliss.

113

H

MARTIAL'S EPIGRAMS

XXIII

THE MUSE’S PRIZE

Make thine award, Thalia, cease To dally. Canst thou not discern Who for the epigrams of Greece

The first and second crowns should earn ? Go to Callimachus and learn That Brutianus first must be ;

And if from Greece to Rome he turn,

Give thou the second place to me !

XXIV

A USEFUL FRIEND

They say your lady friends have no long life, Lycoris — Let me introduce my wife.

* XXV

A PLEASANT RETREAT

Altinum’s shore that can with Baiae vie,

And the green woods that saw young Phaethon die, And thou fair Sola who didst Faunus wed And in Euganean waters hast thy bed,

And Aquileia with Timarus blessed

Where Castor’s steed the sevenfold stream possessed,

If in old age my choice be given free,

You shall my place of rest, my haven be.

XXVI

THE CLIENTS FEE

Are you anxious to hear what I lost in a year By giving up calling on you ?

’Twas a guinea at most ; pray excuse me, good host, A second-rate toga costs two.

114

BOOK FOUR

XXVII

ON A JEALOUS RIVAL

Caesar, I know you often praise

My books — and will it change your wont That yonder jealous rascal says You don’t ?

If rumoured words his anger stir,

His envious wrath must rise anew At boons no other could confer,

Save you.

He gnaws his grimy nails for spite,

Just watch him turning livid green ; Grant me fresh bounties to excite His spleen.

* XXVIII . TO CHLOE

You give Spanish cloaks to Lupercus as hire,

Their wool dyed in scarlet and purple of Tyre,

And a toga new dipped in Galesus’ warm tide, Sardonyx from India and emeralds beside,

And a hundred new sovereigns fresh from the mint ; Whatever he asks for you grant without stint.

His skin may be smooth and his cheeks may be fair ; But your stripling Lupercus will soon strip you bare.

XXIX

TO PUDENS

Their wealth has wrought my verses harm, Their sated reader yawns and dozes ;

’Tis rarity gives books their charm,

Like early fruits or winter roses.

Let mistresses be coy and hard,

And men will spend their all to win them ; If doors are never shut and barred They cannot draw young love within them.

115

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

A single volume Persius wrote,

But this in every heart enshrined him ;

How many now could read or quote The epics Marsus left behind him ?

So if you read a book of mine,

Think it my only publication ;

I know more brightly it will shine In that imagined isolation.

* XXX

A WARNING TO FISHERMEN

Go from our Baian Lake, I bid thee go.

Ere thou the guilt of sacrilege allow.

Holy the fish that swim about this strand ;

They know their Lord, and fawn upon the hand That is on earth most mighty, and withal They have their names and answer to his call. An impious wretch from Africa’s dark shore Was drawing from this deep his prey of yore, When sudden blindness fell upon his eyes,

Nor could he longer see his watery prize.

So now he holds his cursed hooks in hate,

And as a beggar sits at Baiae’s gate.

Revere these dainty fish and with pure heart Cast them a guileless meal and then depart.

XXXI

THE DIFFICULT RHYME

Write you an epigram ? When you suggested it, Friend, I was flattered that you had requested it.

Is it an honour ? I pledge you my word on it,

If my poor verses a lustre conferred on it,

Gladly I’d mention your name from regard to you, Had not your mother been cruelly hard to you. Names so unmetrical, sesquipedalian,

Dry up the source of the fountain Castalian, Melpomene will not whisper or mutter it,

None of her sisters nor Phoebus can utter it.

Get you another the Muses think better of,

This is a word I can’t use the last letter of ;

‘ Hippodame,’ little grace I can see in it,

Though, to be sure, I might end with the ‘ e ’ in it.

BOOK FOUR

XXXil

ON A BEE IN AMBER

The bee, as though enshrined in honey clear, Is seen imprisoned in an amber tear Of Phaethusa or Lampetie ;

A just reward hast thou, O toiler bee ; Methinks that gladly thou hast met thy doom, Content to lie within a golden tomb.

XXXIII

POSTHUMOUS PUBLICATION

Packed in your desk your finished verses lurk,

Or so you say. Pray, let us read your work.

‘ My heirs/ you say, ‘ shall give the world that boon.’ Oh, give those heirs the chance to publish soon !

* XXXIV

TO ATT ALUS

Your rags are grimy, but they’ve worn so thin To call them ‘ snow-flakes ’ were no mortal sin.

* XXXV

A STRANGE SPECTACLE

We have seen gentle deer charging on head to head,

And meeting together, together fall dead.

While the hounds stood amazed at this new sort of strife, And the huntsman found nothing to do for his knife. What frenzy to weaklings such fire could supply ?

In this fashion bulls fight, in this fashion men die.

XXXVI

THE CONTRAST

Your locks are raven black, your beard is grey. Well, wigs are easier to dye they say.

ii 7

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

* XXXVII

TO AFER

‘ One thousand pounds Coranus owes to me, Mancinus two, and Titius owes three,

Albinus owes just twice as much, and then Sabinus and Serranus each owe ten ;

My flats and farms give thirty thousand clear, My Parma sheep bring sixty in each year ’ — That’s how you talk, and every day’s the same I know it better than I know my name.

Unpaid I can no more your tales endure ;

They bring a nausea only cash can cure.

XXXVIII

TO GALL A

Galla, say ‘ no ’ — -Tease love and you renew it. But prithee, Galla, do not overdo it.

XXXIX

TO CHARINUS

Your masterpieces rich and rare Are priceless and antique ;

Scopas is represented there,

Your ‘ Myrons ’ are unique ;

Reliefs that Phidias’ graver wrought, Cups by Praxiteles,

‘ Mentors ’ by others vainly sought Bear company with these.

You do not honour Greece alone Nor later work disdain ;

Here are the finest ‘ Gratians ’ known, There gold inlay from Spain.

Heirlooms these bas-reliefs must be, They show ancestral taste.

How strange — You are a debauchee, But all your plate is chased !

118

BOOK FOUR

* XL

TO POSTUMUS

When the wise Senecas adorned our age And Piso’s house with all its lineage.

To those great patrons you I did prefer ;

You, a poor knight, to me a consul were.

Full thirty years have passed since that first day When you and I on the same pallet lay ;

And now you’re rich, an honoured magistrate, With brimming purse : — yet still your gifts I wait. The time has gone another lord to find ;

Had Fortune known, she had not been so kind.

XLI

TO A DELICATE POET

’Tis but your throat you guard with wool Ere you recite your verse.

I pray you be more pitiful,

Our ears will suffer worse.

* XLII

TO FLACCUS

If any one wishes to give me a slave,

I will mention the points I would wish him to have.

First of all, I should like him from Egypt to come,

For he’ll be a sly rogue if the Nile is his home.

Let his cheeks too be whiter than snow ; in those lands That colour is rare and its value commands.

Let his eyes vie with stars and his hair wanton free O’er his shoulders ; close-braided locks do not please me. Let his forehead be low and his nose aquiline,

Let his lips on the roses of Paestum refine.

Let him court me unwilling, refuse me when fain,

And ever more free than his master remain,

For me but a boy, to the world a man grown,

Who as friends neither youths nor yet maidens will own. ‘ I know him,’ you say, — ‘ you need not make this fuss ; The boy that you mean’s my Amazonicus.’

119

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

XLIII

TO CORACINUS

Call you by nature vicious ? Nay That hardly needs denying,

For such a thing I dare not say,

Besides, I love not lying.

From Pontia’s flagon let me sup If e’er I thought or said it,

Or even share Metilius’ cup,

Although the boldest dread it.

By Cybele’s mad retinue,

By every raving minion In Isis’ train, I hold of you The contrary opinion.

I passed a trifling comment, far From false or injudicious,

And called you, what you know you are, Unnaturally vicious.

XLIV

ON THE ERUPTION OF VESUVIUS, A.D. 79

Fair were thy shading vines and rich to fill The overflowing wine-press year by year,

Bacchus hath loved thee more than Nysa’s hill, Vesuvius, for his fauns held revel here ;

Sweet Venus held no other haunt so dear,

Alcides made thee glorious with his name, Flame-swept art thou, a waste of ashes drear,

And heaven remorseful hides its face for shame.

XLV

PA RTHENIUS MAKES OFFERING TO PHOEBUS ON HIS SON’S FIFTH BIRTHDAY

Take my glad offering, Phoebus ; for my son This fragrant censer have I filled to thee,

For now his second lustrum has begun And many a new Olympiad let him see.

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BOOK FOUR

Kind be thy tree-love so thou favour me ;

In stainless glory let thy sister shine ;

Yet brighter may thine ageless beauty be And Bromius’ tresses never vie with thine.

* XLVI

A LAWYER’S BAG

Sabellus looks haughty ; there’s reason for pride ; He’s made a good harvest this last Christmastide ; And he thinks and declares to the junior Bar That he’s the most lucky of pleaders by far.

The reasons that make him so puffed up are these, I’ll give you the whole catalogue, if you please — To begin with, a half peck of flour and ground rice And a pound and a half of frankincense and spice, Lucanian sausage, Falerian ham,

And a pot filled with African figs boiled to jam,

A Syrian flagon of dark syrup wine,

Fat onions and cheeses and snails really fine ;

From a client who lives in Picenum he got A box with some olives — a very poor lot —

A napkin adorned with a senator’s band,

And seven small cups made to fit in a stand Which a potter had fashioned in Spain far away. And had done quite a deal of embossing — in clay ! No wonder Sabellus feels self-satisfied ;

He’s beaten the record this last Christmastide.

XLVII

ON A PICTURE OF PHAETHON IN ENCAUSTIC COLOURS

Encaustic artist, alter your device ;

’Tis Phaethon, you should not burn him twice.

* XLVIII TO PAPYLUS

‘ I’ll scream if you touch me ’ — exclaimed a pert miss, When her lover attempted an innocent kiss.

But when he gave up and made ready to go,

The damsel cried louder — ‘ I’ll scream till you do.’

I 2 I

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

XLIX

POPULAR TASTE

Who sneers at epigrams and feigns to scout them, Believe me, does not know a thing about them.

The real bores are the dreary epic spinners Who rant of Tereus’ or Thyestes’ dinners,

Who rave of cunning Daedalus applying The wings to Icarus to teach him flying,

Or else to show what dullards they esteem us Bleat endless pastorals on Polyphemus.

My unpretentious Muse is not bombastic,

But deems these robes of Tragedy fantastic.

‘ Such things,’ you say, * earn all men’s commendation, As works of genius and inspiration.’

Ah, very true — these pompous, classic leaders Do get the praise — but then I get the readers !

L

COMPARISONS

Thais, you say that I am old. ’Tis true : But how could any be too old for you ?

LI

TO CAECILIANUS

When poor, a lordly coach and six Conveyed you everywhere ;

Then you became by fortune’s tricks A multi-millionaire.

But though she gave that bulging purse And blindly bade you thrive,

Your former habits you reverse And ‘ can’t afford to drive.’

’Tis plain such simple manners earn Reward and not reproach.

I’ll pray the gods in just return To give you back your coach.

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LI I

Gestari iunctis nisi desinis, Hedyle, capris, Qui modo ficus eras, iam caprificus eris.

LIII

THE BEGGAR

See that old knave by Pallas’ shrine, He lurks there when the weather’s fine, Or favours, if it chance to rain,

The doorway of our nearest fane ;

With staff and scrip he lounges there With ragged beard and matted hair ; That greasy cloak at night is spread, The only blanket, on his bed.

He snarls and whines to passers-by Who fling him scraps for charity.

Y ou say, misled by signs like these,

‘ Some pupil of Diogenes ’ ?

Nay, he is no philosopher,

But less a cynic than a cur.

LIV

TO COLLINUS

The wreath of honoured oak is on thy brow,

Thine is the noblest prize the Muse can give,

Well was that guerdon merited, but now If thou be wise, Collinus, learn to live.

Henceforth forget ambition and begin

To live each day as though thou hadst but one ;

For who has ever moved the maids that spin To toil a moment when their task is done ?

Were Thrasea’s courage there, with Crispus’ gold And Melior’s lavish hand, ’twere all in vain ;

For Lachesis should never be cajoled,

Thy portion done, to turn the wheel again ;

The thread her sisters wove, doth she unwind.

Three are the Fates, and there should ever be

One merciless, inexorable mind

To spurn thy prayer, though two had pitied thee.

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

* LV

THE GLORIES OF SPAIN

Lucius, who art the glory of thy time,

And wilt not let the splendours of our clime,

Tagus and ancient Caius, yield in fame To Arpi’s eloquence and ancient name :

Let those who first in Hellas saw the light,

Sing of Mycenae and the Thebans’ might,

Of famous Rhodes and Sparta’s wrestling-game, Where wanton Leda stripped nor thought of shame But let us Celts, true sons of Spanish soil,

Blush not for her to spend the midnight oil.

And bid our Muses boldly to rehearse

Our country’s rugged names in grateful verse.

First, Bilbilis, whose steel doth far outshine The Chalyb metal and the Noric mine.

Then Platea, which restless Salo rings,

Noisy with iron, and keen temper brings To her sharp swords ; and Rixamae’s fair plains, Where with the god to guide the gay dance reigns. Then Carduae, whose revels fill the night,

And Peteris with rosy garlands bright,

And Rigae, where our fathers played of old,

And Silae so skilled the spear to hold.

Turguntum’s lake, Perusia’s still mere,

And little Tuetonissa’s shallows clear,

The oaks of Buradon, the god’s own place,

Which even lazy travellers love to pace.

The fields of Vativesca on the hills Which Manlius with sturdy bullocks tills.

Perhaps at this some dainty reader smiled,

And said — ‘ My friend, these names are rather wild, They may be so indeed, but I aver That these to your Butonti I prefer.

LVi

TRUE GENEROSITY

You generous ! Some childless crone Or dotard you propitiate ;

What meaner knave was ever known ?

The angler’s trick you emulate ;

When witless creatures take the bait,

Is that a gift ? Then yours may be ;

The better way to indicate Your claim is this — to give to me.

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BOOK FOUR

* LVII

TO FAUST IN US

While near the wanton Lucrine I delay And in warm springs by rocky caverns play, You dwell, Faustinus, twenty miles from town, Where once Catillus did his kingdom own.

But now when Leo burns with furious ire And Baiae glows with more than native fire, Farewell, ye pleasant shores, ye sacred wells, Where Nereid with Nymph united dwells. Surpass our heights in winter, if you will :

But in the summer yield to Tibur’s hill.

* LVIII TO GALL A

It is not your ‘ man ’ that you mourn, but your ‘ spouse * ; For the open truth modesty scarcely allows.

* LIX

ON A SNAKE IN AMBER

A viper crept along a poplar bough,

When lo, the amber drops that therefrom flow With clinging moisture stayed her on her way And fettered by the gum congealed she lay.

Let Cleopatra boast no more her grave,

When tiny vipers such a burial have.

LX

ON THE TOMB OF CURIATIUS AT TIBUR

Now must we say, if thou be wise In summer’s heat to Ardea turn,

Or seek the plain where Castrum lies And the hot stars of Leo burn.

He that is laid in yonder grave

Saith, ‘ Tarry not but get thee gone.’

Here sought he Arno’s healing wave,

But found the stream of Acheron ?

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MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

Yet what shall stay the march of death ?

When he is come and calleth thee, Sardinia’s fever-laden breath Shall taint the air of Tivoli.

* LXI

TO MANCINUS

Last week you came up with a smile of content,

And whispered — ‘ Two thousand a friend just has sent.’ While three days ago, when we met at the club,

You said, as I happened your mantle to rub,

— ‘ That’s a gift from Pompulla ; it cost eighty pound ’ — Then displayed a sardonyx with lines all around And two rings beside, both with green jewels set,

— ‘ These are gifts that from Bassa and Caelia I get.’

And again in the theatre last night you went out While Pollio was playing, but found time to shout,

— ‘ A friend has bequeathed me three thousand by will — And to-day there’s been two other legacies still.’

What wrong have we done you, who treat you as friend ? Have pity and make of this boasting an end.

Or if you can’t silence your tongue, as I fear,

At least tell us something that’s pleasant to hear.

* LXII

A BEAUTY RECIPE

Lycoris to Tibur has taken her flight ;

For she fancies that everything there becomes white.

* LXIII

TO CAERELLIA

Alas, poor mother, as you made your way Across from Bauli to fair Baiae’s bay A tempest whelmed you ’neath the frenzied sea,

Which lost that day its name for piety.

Fierce Nero bade these waves his mother drown ;

They loathed such guilt, nor feared the tyrant’s frown.

BOOK FOUR

* LXIV

COUNTRY IN TOWN

The fields that Julius my namesake know For owner, though they be but few, I trow,

On the Janiculum more happy rest Than all the fabled islands of the blest.

Their sheltered acres from the hills rise high. Whose level summit takes the clearer sky,

And even when thick mists the valley drown It shines with brightness that is all its own, While in the night the farmhouse gables seem To lift to heaven to catch the starry gleam.

On this side, you may see the Seven Hills And mark the space that our great city fills,

The heights of Tusculum and Alba’s home And all the cool suburban haunts of Rome,

Red Roofs, and old Fidenae, and the trees Where with a maiden’s blood we Anna please.

On that, the Flaminian and Salarian way Their noiseless stream of travellers display, Whose distant wheels disturb not your repose, And though near by the sacred Tiber flows Beneath the Milvian Bridge, no bargemen’s noise Nor sailors’ shout breaks in upon your joys. Whether ’tis country or a town estate,

Its master most doth grace it, and his gate Is ever open, generous and free ;

You’ld think it might your own dominion be. Alcinous was not a kinder host,

Molorchus could not readier welcome boast.

Let those who this a tiny cot suppose,

Till all Praeneste with a hundred hoes,

Give to one tenant Setia on the hill,

But let me choose my friend’s few acres still.

LXV

A PARADOX

She weeps from but one eye ! How is it done ? Quite easily. Philaenis has but one.

1 27

MARTIAL’S EPIGRAMS

LXVI

THE COUNTRY LIFE

Linus, the country ever was your home,

How cheap that life, how costly ours in Rome !

You shake the creases of your toga out,

Say once a month. A single suit, no doubt,

Will last ten seasons ere its work be done —

Though at the first 'twas not a costly one ;

Y our woods provide a boar, your fields a hare !

To meet your simple needs ; for richer fare You beat the copse for thrushes, and of fish Your river yields you freely many a dish.

No costly wines imported from afar You ever need to fill your Samian jar ;

No slave from dainty Greece doth call you lord,

But home-bred clowns attend your rustic board ; From fire and drought your house and lands are free, Y ou never lost or risked a ship at sea ;

At knuckle-bones you stake a nut or two But keep the guileful dice-box far from you ;

Your mother too, whose passion was to hoard.

Left you a million, yet you can’t afford To spend or give— ’Tis gone, so you aver.

Untouched, yet gone ? You are a conjurer.

* LXVII

‘ RICH TO HIMSELF, BUT TO HIS COMRADES POOR ’

Gaurus, a poor but ancient friend,

Said to the praetor — ‘ Will you lend One thousand to me, for my three Will then a sum sufficient be That in the circus I may take my seat,

And as a knight our Emperor duly greet.’

To him the praetor answer made —

‘ I cannot help you, I’m afraid ;

For to my jockeys I bestow

More than the sum you say you owe.’