Martial: EPIGRAMMATON LIBRI

Where are you going, where, O leisurely book, are you heading,
adorned in Sidonian (Tyrian) dress not of the everyday?
Are you perhaps to see Parthenius? Certainly:
go, and come back unwrapped.

Libros non legit ille sed libellos;
nec Musis vacat, aut suis vacaret.
Ecquid te satis aestimas beatum,
contingunt tibi si manus minores?
Vicini pete porticum Quirini:
turbam non habet otiosiorem
Pompeius vel Agenoris puella,
vel primae dominus levis carinae.

He does not read books but little books;
nor has he leisure for the Muses, nor would he have it for his own.
Do you think yourself sufficiently blessed,
if lesser hands befall you?
Seek the Portico of the neighboring Quirinus:
not Pompey nor Agenor’s girl,
nor the master of the first light keel, has a more idle crowd.

Sunt illic duo tresve qui revolvant
nostrarum tineas ineptiarum,
sed cum sponsio fabulaeque lassae
de Scorpo fuerint et Incitato.

There are there two or three who turn over the moths of our ineptitudes,
but only when the wager and the jaded tales
have been about Scorpus and Incitatus.

Triste supercilium durique severa Catonis
    frons et aratoris filia Fabricii
et personati fastus et regula morum,
    quidquid et in tenebris non sumus, ite foras.
Clamant ecce mei "Jo Saturnalia" versus:
    et licet et sub te praeside, Nerva, libet.
Iectores tetrici salebrosum ediscite Santram:
    nil mihi vobiscum'st: iste liber meus est.

The grim brow and the severe front of stern Cato,
    and the daughter of the plowman Fabricius,
and the haughtiness of the masked and the rule of morals—
    and whatever we are not in the dark—go outside.
Behold, my verses shout “Io Saturnalia!”:
    and both it is permitted and, with you presiding, Nerva, it pleases.
Grim boasters, learn by heart rugged Santra:
    I have nothing to do with you: this book is mine.

III

Non urbana mea tantum Pimpleide gaudent
    otia, nec vacuis auribus ista damus
sed meus in Geticis ad Martia signa pruinis
    a rigido teritur centurione liber,
dicitur et nostros cantare Britannia versus.
    quid prodest? Nescit sacculus ista meus.

Not only do my urban leisures rejoice with the Pimpleid,
    nor do we give these things to vacant ears,
but in the Getic frosts at the martial standards
    my book is rubbed threadbare by a rigid centurion,
and Britain is said to sing our verses.
    what good is it? My little purse does not know these things.

at quam victuras poteramus pangere chartas
quantaque Pieria proelia flare tuba,
cum pia reddiderint Augustum numina terris,
et Maecenatem si tibi, Roma, darent!

but how we could compose pages destined to live,
and how great Pierian battles the trumpet could blow,
when the pious divinities have restored Augustus to the earth,
and if they would give you Maecenas, Rome!

Sacra laresque Phrygum, quos Troiae maluit heres
    quam rapere arsuras Laomedontis opes,
scriptus et aeterno nunc primum Juppiter auro
    et soror et summi filia tota patris,
et qui purpureis jam tertia nomina fastis,
    Jane, refers Nervae, vos precor ore pio:
hunc omnes servate ducem, servate senatum;
    moribus hic vivat principis, ille suis.

Sacred rites and the Lares of the Phrygians, whom the heir of Troy preferred
    rather than to snatch Laomedon’s opulence, destined to burn;
and Jupiter, now for the first time engraved in eternal gold,
    and the sister and the daughter, wholly of the supreme father;
and you, who now record the third names in the purple Fasti,
    Janus, for Nerva—You all I beseech with a pious mouth:
guard this leader, all of you; guard the senate;
    let this one live by a prince’s mores, that one by its own.

Tanta tibi est recti reverentia, Caesar, at aequi
    quanta Numae fuerat: sed Numa pauper erat.
ardua res haec est, opibus non tradere mores
    et, cum tot Croesos viceris, esse Numam.
Si redeant veteres, ingentia nomina, patres,
    Elysium liceat si vacuare nemus,
te colet invictus pro libertate Camillus,
    aurum Fabricius te tribuente vo]et;
te duce gaudebit Brutus, tibi Sulla cruentus
    imperium tradet, cum positurus erit;
et te privato cum Caesare Magnus amabit,
    donabit totas et tibi Crassus opes.

So great is your reverence for the right, Caesar, and for the equitable,
    as great as it had been to Numa: but Numa was poor.
this is an arduous thing, not to hand over morals to riches,
    and, though you have conquered so many Croesuses, to be a Numa.
If the ancients should return, the mighty names, the fathers,
    if it were permitted to empty the Elysian grove,
the unconquered Camillus will worship you for liberty’s sake,
    Fabricius will want gold with you bestowing it;
Brutus will rejoice with you as leader, to you blood-stained Sulla
    will hand over imperium, when he is about to lay it down;
and Magnus will love you, with Caesar a private man,
    and Crassus will bestow to you all his wealth.

Ipse quoque infernis revocatus Ditis ab umbris
si Cato reddatur, Caesarianus erit.

He himself too, recalled from the infernal shades of Dis—
if Cato be restored—will be Caesarian.

Unctis falciferi senis diebus,
regnator quibus inperat fritillus,
versu ludere non laborioso
permittis, puto, pilleata Roma.
Risisti; licet ergo, non vetamur.
Pallentes procul hinc abite curae;
quidquid venerit obvium loquamur
morosa sine cogitatione.

On the anointed days of the sickle-bearing old man,
on which the dice-box commands as ruler,
to play with verse not laborious
you permit, I think, cap-wearing Rome.
Risisti; therefore it is permitted, we are not forbidden.
Pale cares, be off far from here;
whatever comes to meet us, let us speak
without morose cogitation.

Misce dimidios, puer, trientes,
quales Pythagoras dabat Neroni,
misce, Dindyme, sed frequentiores:
possum nil ego sobrius; bibenti
succurrent mihi quindecim poetae.
Da nunc basia, sed Catulliana:
quae si tot fuerint quot ille dixit,
donabo tibi Passerem Catulli.

Mix half-trientes, boy,
such as Pythagoras used to give to Nero;
mix, Dindyme, but more frequent ones:
I can do nothing sober; when drinking
fifteen poets will come running to my aid.
Give now kisses, but Catullian ones:
which, if they shall be as many as he said,
I will gift to you the Sparrow of Catullus.

VII

Jam certe stupido non dices, Paula, marito,
    ad moechum quotiens longius ire voles,
"Caesar in Albanum jussit me mane venire,
    Caesar Circeios." Jam stropha talis abit.
Penelopae licet esse tibi sub principe Nerva:
    sed prohibet scabies ingeniumque vetus.
Infelix, quid ages?

Now surely you will not say, Paula, to your stupid husband,
    whenever you want to go farther to your adulterer,
"Caesar has ordered me to come in the morning to the Alban estate,
    Caesar to Circeii." Now such a dodge is gone.
You may be a Penelope under Prince Nerva:
    but the itch and your old disposition forbid it.
Unhappy one, what will you do?

Aegram simulabis amicam?
Haerebit dominae vir comes ipse suae,
ibit et ad fratrem tecum matremque patremque.
Quas igitur fraudes ingeniosa pares?

Will you simulate a sick female friend?
The husband himself, companion to his own lady, will stick fast;
he will go along with you to your brother, and to your mother and father.
What frauds, then, ingenious one, will you prepare?

Diceret hystericam se forsitan altera moecha
in Sinuessano velle sedere lacu.
Quanto tu melius, quotiens placet ire fututum,
quae verum mavis dicere, Paula, viro!

Another adulteress might say she is hysterical and wants to sit in the Sinuessan lake.
How much better you, whenever it pleases you to go get fucked, you who prefer to tell the truth to your husband, Paula!

VIII

Lassa quod nesterni spirant opobalsama dracti,
    ultima quod curvo quae cadit nura croco;
poma quod hiberna maturescentia capsa,
    arbole quod verna luxuriosus ager;
de Palatinis dominae quod Serica prelis,
    sucina virginea quod regelata manu;
amphora quod nigri, sed longe, fracta Falerni,
    quod qui Sicanias detinet hortus apes;
quod Cosmi redolent alabastra focique deorum,
    quod modo divitibus lapsa corona comis:
singula quid dicam? Non sunt satis; omnia misce
    hoc fragrant pueri basia mane mei.
Scire cupis nomen?

What the weary Nestrian dragon-trees breathe—opobalsams,
    what the last that falls from the curved saffron-urn;
what a winter coffer ripening apples exhales,
    what the luxuriant field by the tree in springtime;
what the lady’s Seric stuffs from Palatine looms,
    what amber, re-gelated by a maiden hand;
what a jar of dark Falernian, but long ago, broken,
    what the garden that keeps Sicilian bees;
what Cosmus’ alabasters and the hearths of the gods give forth,
    what a crown just now slipped from wealthy locks:
why should I name them singly? They are not enough; mix them all—
    my boy’s kisses smell of this in the morning.
Do you wish to know the name?

Si propter basia, dicam.
Jurasti. Nimium scire, Sabine, cupis.

If it is for kisses, I will tell.
You swore. You desire to know too much, Sabinus.

Clarus fronde Jovis, Romani fama coturni,
spirat Apellea redditus arte Memor.

Renowned with Jove’s frond, the fame of the Roman cothurnus,
Memor breathes again, restored by Apellean art.

Contulit ad saturas ingentia pectora Turnus.
Cur non ad Memoris carmina? Frater erat.

Turnus brought a mighty heart to satires.
Why not to the songs of Memor? He was a brother.

Tolle, puer, calices tepidique toreumata Nili
    et milli secura pocula trade manu
trita patrum labris et tonso pura ministro;
    anticus mensis restituatur honor.
Te potare decet gemma qui Mentora frangis
    in scaphium moechae, Sardanapalle, tuae.

Lift, boy, the goblets and the toreutic works of the tepid Nile,
    and, heedless of the thousand, hand over with your hand the cups
worn by the fathers’ lips and clean for the shaven attendant;
    let the ancient honor of the table be restored.
It befits you to drink from a gem—you who break Mentor
    into a skiff-bowl for your adulteress, Sardanapalus, of yours.

XII

Jus tibi natorum vel septem, Zoile, detur,
dum matrem nemo det tibi, nemo patrem.

Let the right of offspring—even of seven—be granted to you, Zoilus,
so long as no one gives you a mother, no one a father.

XIII

Quisquis Flaminiam teris, viator,
noli nobile praeterire marmor.
Urbis deliciae salesque Nili,
ars et gratia, lusus et voluptas,
Romani decus et dolor theatri
atque omnes Veneres Cupidinesque
hoc sunt condita, quo Paris, sepulchro.

Whoever treads the Flaminian Way, traveler,
do not pass by the noble marble.
The City’s darling and the Nile’s wit,
art and grace, sport and delight,
the ornament and the sorrow of the Roman theater,
and all the Venuses and Cupids
are laid up in this sepulcher where Paris lies.

XIV

Heredes, nolite brevem sepelire colonum:
nam terra est illi quantulacumque gravis.

Heirs, do not bury a short tenant‑farmer:
for earth, however small, is heavy to him.

Sunt chartae mihi quas Catonis uxor
et quas horribiles legant Sabinae:
hic totus volo rideat libellus
et sit nequior omnibus libellis.
Qui vino madeat nec erubescat
pingui sordidus esse Cosmiano,
ludat cum pueris, amet puellas,
nec per circuitus loquatur illam,
ex qua nascimur, omnium parentem,
quam sanctus Numa mentulam vocabat.
Versus hos tamen esse tu memento
Saturnalicios, Apollinaris:
mores non habet hic meos libellus.

I have pages which Cato’s wife may read,
and which the dreadful Sabine women may read:
here I want this whole little book to laugh,
and to be naughtier than all little books.
Let it be drenched with wine and not blush
to be filthy with rich Cosmian unguent,
let it play with boys, love girls,
and not speak by circumlocutions of that thing
from which we are born, the parent of all,
which holy Numa called the penis.
Yet remember these verses are Saturnalian, Apollinaris:
this little book does not have my morals.

XVI

Qui gravis es nimium, potes hinc jam, lector, abire
    quo libet: urbanae scripsimus ista togae;
jam mea Lampsacio lascivit pagina versu
    et Tartesiaca concrepat aera manu.
O quotiens rigida pulsabis pallia vena,
    sis gravior Curio Fabricioque licet!
Tu quoque nequitias nostri lususque libelli
    uda, puella, leges, sis Patavina licet.

You who are too grave, you can now, reader, depart from here
    wherever you please: we have written these things for the urban toga;
now my page frolics with Lampsacene verse
    and with a Tartessian hand makes the bronzes rattle.
O how often with a rigid vein you will beat your cloaks,
    though you be graver than Curius and Fabricius!
You too will read the naughtinesses and the sport of our little booklet,
    wet girl, though you be a Patavine.

Erubuit posuitque meum Lucretia librum,
sed coram Bruto; Brute,recede: leget.

Lucretia blushed and set down my book,
but in Brutus’s presence; Brutus,recede: she will read.

XVII

Non omnis nostri nocturna est pagina libri:
invenies et quod mane, Sabine, legas.

Not every page of my book is nocturnal:
you will also find something to read in the morning, Sabinus.

XVIII

Donasti, Lupe, rus sub urbe nobis;
sed rus est mihi majus in fenestra.
Rus hoc dicere, rus potes vocare?
In quo ruta facit nemus Dianae,
argutae tegit ala quod cicadae,
quod formica die comedit uno,
clusae cui folium rosae corona est;
in quo non magis invenitur herba
quam Cosmi folium piperve crudum;
in quo nec cucumis jacere rectus
nec serpens habitare tota possit.

You have given, Lupe, a country-place near the city to me;
but I have a bigger “country” in my window.
Can you call this a country, can you name it country?
In which a sprig of rue makes a grove of Diana,
which the wing of a shrilling cicada covers,
which an ant devours in a single day,
for which the leaf of a closed rose is a crown;
in which a blade of grass is no more found
than Cosmus’s “leaf” or raw pepper;
in which neither can a cucumber lie straight
nor can a serpent dwell in its whole length.

Urucam male pascit hortus unam,
consumpto moritur culix salicto,
et talpa est mihi fossor atque arator.
Non boletus hiare, non mariscae
ridere aut violae patere possunt.
Finis mus populatur et colono
tamquam sus Calydonius timetur,
et sublata volantis ungue Procnes
in nido seges est hirundinino;
et cum stet sine falce mentulaque,
non est dimidio locus Priapo.

The garden scarcely feeds a single caterpillar,
with the willow-bed consumed, a gnat dies,
and a mole is for me both digger and ploughman.
Neither can a mushroom yawn, nor Mariscan figs
smile, nor violets lie open.
A mouse plunders the boundary, and by the tenant-farmer
is feared as though a Calydonian boar,
and, lifted by the claw of flying Procne,
the harvest is in a swallow’s nest;
and though he stand without sickle and phallus,
there is not room by half for Priapus.

Vix implet cocleam peracta messis,
et mustum nuce condimus picata.
Errasti, Lupe, littera sed una:
nam quo tempore praedium dedisti,
mallem tu mihi prandium dedisses.

Hardly does the finished harvest fill a snail-shell,
and we store the must in a pitch-smeared nut-shell.
Errasti, Lupe, by but one letter:
for at the time when you gave the estate,
I would have preferred you had given me a luncheon.

XIX

Quaeris cur nolim te ducere, Galla? Diserta es
saepe soloecismum mentula nostra facit.

You ask why I do not wish to lead you home (marry you), Galla? You are eloquent:
often my penis commits a solecism.

Caesaris Augusti lascivos, livide, versus
    sex lege, qui tristis verba Latina legis:
"Quod futuit Glaphyran Antonius, hanc mihi poenam
    Fulvia constituit, se quoque uti futuam.
Fulviam ego ut futuam? Quod si me Manius oret
    pedicem?

Read, envious one, the lascivious verses of Caesar Augustus,
    six of them, you who, gloomy, read Latin words:
"Because Antony has fucked Glaphyra, Fulvia has set this penalty for me—
    that I should fuck her as well.
Shall I fuck Fulvia? What if Manius were to beg me
    to be the pathic?

faciam? Non puto, si sapiam.
'Aut futue, aut pugnemus' ait.

shall I do it? I do not think so, if I am wise.
'Either fuck, or let us fight,' she says.

Quid quod mihi vita
carior est ipsa mentula? Signa canant!"
Absolvis lepidos nimirum, Auguste, libellos,
qui scis Romana simplicitate loqui.

What of this, that my own cock is dearer to me than life itself? Let the standards sound!"
You absolve the charming little books, no doubt, Augustus, you who know how to speak with Roman simplicity.

XXI

Lydia tam laxa est equitis quam culus aeni,
    quam celer arguto qui sonat aere trochus,
quam rota transmisso totiens inpacta petauro,
    quam vetus a crassa calceus udus aqua,
quam quae rara vagos expectant retia turdos,
    quam Pompeiano vela negata Noto,
quam quae de pthisico lapsa est armilla cinaedo,
    culcita Leuconico quam viduata suo,
quam veteres bracae Brittonis pauperis, et quam
    urpe Ravennatis guttur onocrotali.
Hanc in piscina dicor futuisse marina.
    Nescio; piscinam me futuisse puto.

Lydia is as loose as the arse of a bronze horseman,
    as swift as the hoop that rings with shrilling bronze,
as the wheel so often dashed after passing over the springboard,
    as an old shoe soaked with thick stagnant water,
as the open-meshed nets that await wandering thrushes,
    as sails refused to the Pompeian South Wind,
as a bracelet slipped from a phthisic catamite,
    as a cushion bereft of its Leuconicus,
as the old breeches of a poor Briton, and as
    the onocrotal (pelican-throated) gullet of a man of Ravenna.
I am said to have fucked this one in a sea fishpond.
    I don’t know; I think I fucked the fishpond.

XXII

Mollia quod nivei duro teris ore Galaesi
    basia, quod nudo cum Ganymede jaces,
—quis negat?—hoc nimium'st. Sed sit satis; inguina saltem
    parce fututrici sollicitare manu.
Levibus in pueris plus haec quam mentula peccat
    et faciunt digiti praecipitantque virum:
inde tragus celeresque pili mirandaque matri
    barba, nec in clara balnea luce placent.
Divisit natura marem: pars una puellis,
    una viris genita est.

That you wear away with a hard mouth the soft kisses of snow‑white Galaesus,
    that you lie with naked Ganymede—who denies it?—this is excessive.
But let that be enough; at least spare to stir the groins
    with a fucking hand. In smooth boys this sins more than a penis,
    and fingers do it and hurry the boy into manhood:
from that come the ear‑down and the quick hairs and a beard wondrous to his mother,
    and he no longer pleases the baths in the bright light. Nature divided the male:
    one part was born for girls, one for men.

Utere parte tua.

Use your part.

XXIII

Nubere Sila mihi nulla non lege parata est;
    sed Silam nulla ducere lege volo.
Cum tamen instaret, "deciens mihi dotis in auro
    sponsa dabis" dixi. "Quid minus esse potest?"
"Nec futuam quamvis prima te nocte maritus,
    communis tecum nec mihi lectus erit;
complectarque meam, nec tu prohibebis, amicam,
    ancillam mittes et mihi jussa tuam.

Sila is prepared to marry me under no condition not agreed;
    but I wish to take Sila under no condition at all.
Yet when she pressed, “ten times the dowry in gold
    you as bride will give me,” I said. “What could be less?”
“Nor shall I copulate with you, though your husband, on the first night,
    nor shall the bed be common to you and me;
and I shall embrace my mistress, nor will you forbid it,
    and you will send your handmaid to me, instructed by you.

te spectante dabit nobis lasciva minister basia,
    sive meus sive erit ille tuus.
Ad cenam venies, sed sic divisa recumbes
    ut non tangantur pallia nostra tuis.
Oscula rara dabis nobis et non dabis ultro,
    nec quasi nupta dabis sed quasi mater anus.

with you looking on the attendant will give us lascivious kisses,
    whether he be mine or whether he be yours.
You will come to dinner, but you will recline so divided
    that our coverlets are not touched by yours.
You will give us kisses rarely, and you will not give them of your own accord,
    nor will you give them as though a bride, but as an aged mother.

Si potes ista pati, si nil perferre recusas,
invenies qui te ducere, Sila, velit."

If you can endure these things, if you do not refuse to bear anything,
you will find someone who wishes to marry you, Sila."

XXIV

Dum te prosequor et domum reduco,
aurem dum tibi praesto garrienti,
et quidquid loqueris facisque laudo,
quot versus poterant, Labulle, nasci!
Hoc damnum tibi non videtur esse,
si quod Roma legit, requirit hospes,
non deridet eques, tenet senator,
laudat causidicus, poeta carpit,
propter te perit? Hoc, Labulle, verum'st?
Hoc quisquam ferat?

While I escort you and lead you home,
while I lend an ear to you garrulous,
and I praise whatever you say and do,
how many verses could, Labullus, have been born!
This loss does not seem to you to be a loss,
if what Rome reads the guest demands,
the knight does not deride, the senator holds,
the advocate praises, the poet carps,
on account of you it perishes? Is this, Labullus, true?
Would anyone bear this?

Ut tibi tuorum
sit major numerus togatulorum,
librorum mihi sit minor meorum?
Triginta prope jam diebus una est
nobis pagina vix peracta. Sic fit
cum cenare domi poeta non vult.

That for you your own
little togate men may be in greater number,
must there be for me a smaller number of my books?
For almost thirty days now a single
page has scarcely been completed by us. Thus it happens
when the poet does not wish to dine at home.

XXV

Illa salax nimium nec paucis nota puellis
stare Lino desît mentula. Lingua, cave.

That too salacious, and to not a few girls well-known, cock—
let it fail to stand for Linus. Tongue, beware.

XXVI

O mihi grata quies, o blanda, Telesphore, cura,
    qualis in amplexu non fuit ante meo,
basia da nobis vetulo, puer, uda Falerno,
    pocula da labris facta minora tuis.
Addideris super haec Veneris si gaudia vera,
    esse negem melius cum Ganymede Jovi.

O welcome repose to me, O charming care, Telesphore,
    such as there has not been before in my embrace,
give me, an old man, boy, kisses wet with Falernian,
    give goblets made smaller than your lips.
If you add on top of these the true joys of Venus,
    I would deny that it is better for Jove to be with Ganymede.

XXVII

Ferreus es, si stare potest tibi mentula, Flacce,
    cum te sex cyathos orat amica gari,
vel duo frusta rogat cybii tenuemve lacertum
    nec dignam toto se botryone putat;
cui portat gaudens ancilla paropside rubra
    allecem, sed quam protinus illa voret;
aut cum perfricuit frontem posuitque pudorem,
    sucida palliolo vellera quinque petit.
At mea me libram foliati poscat amica,
    aut virides gemmas sardonychasve pares,
nec nisi prima velit de Tusco Serica vico
    aut centum aureolos sic velut aera roget.
Nunc tu velle putas haec me donare puellae?

You are iron, if your penis can stand, Flaccus,
    when your mistress begs you for six cyathi of garum,
or asks for two slices of tunny or a lean shoulder,
    and does not think herself worthy of a whole bunch of grapes;
for whom a maid, rejoicing, carries on a red serving-dish
    allec, but such as she may devour at once;
or when she has rubbed her brow and set aside her modesty,
    she asks for five damp fleeces for a little cloak.
But mine asks me for a pound of gold leaf,
    or green gems or a matching pair of sardonyxes,
and wants only first-choice Seric silks from the Tuscan street
    or asks for a hundred little gold coins as if they were bronze.
Now do you think I want to give such things to a girl?

Nolo, sed his ut sit digna puella volo.

I do not wish to, but I wish the girl to be worthy of these.

XXVIII

Invasit medici Nasica phreneticus Eucti
et percidit Hylan. Hic, puto, sanus erat.

Nasica, a phrenetic, burst in upon the physician Euctus
and slashed Hylas. This one, I think, was sane.

XXIX

Languida cum vetula tractare virilia dextra
    coepisti, jugulor pollice, Phylli, tuo.
Jam cum me murem, cum me tua lumina dicis,
    horis me refici vix puto posse decem.
Blanditias nescis: "dabo" dic "tibi milia centum
    et dabo Setini jugera certa soli;
accipe vina, domum, pueros, chrysendeta, mensas."
    Nil opus est digitis: sic mihi, Phylli, frica.

When with a languid old woman’s right hand you began to handle virile parts,
    I am throttled by your thumb, Phyllis.
Now when you call me your mouse, when you call me your lights,
    I scarcely think I can be restored in ten hours.
You do not know blandishments: say “I will give you a hundred thousand
    and I will give you sure jugera of Setine soil;
take wines, a house, boys, chrysendeta, tables.”
    There is no need of fingers: so for me, Phyllis, rub.

XXX

Os male causidicis et dicis olere poetis.
Sed fellatori, Zoile, pejus olet.

You say a mouth smells bad on advocates and on poets.
But for a fellator, Zoilus, it smells worse.

XXXI

Atreus Caecilius cucurbitarum:
sic illas quasi filios Thyestae
in partes lacerat secatque mille.
Gustu protinus has edes in ipso,
has prima feret alteraque cena.
Has cena tibi tertia reponet,
hinc seras epidipnidas parabit.

Caecilius, the Atreus of gourds:
thus he lacerates and cuts them into a thousand parts, as though the sons of Thyestes.
straightway you will eat these in the very tasting itself,
the first and the second course will bring these.
the third course will set these before you again,
from them he will prepare late after-suppers (epidipnides).

Hinc pistor fatuas facit placentas,
hinc et multiplices struit tabellas
et notas caryotidas theatris.
Hinc exit varium coco minutal,
hinc lentem positam fabamque credas;
boletos imitatur et botellos,
et caudam cybii brevesque maenas.
Hinc bellarius experitur artes,
ut condat vario vafer sapore
in rutae folium Capelliana.

From here the baker makes silly cakes,
from here too he stacks up manifold tablets
and the well-known caryotids for the theaters.
From here there comes out for the cook a variegated minutal,
from here you’d think lentil set out and bean as well;
it imitates boleti and little sausages,
and the tail of the tunny and the short maenae.
From here the confectioner tests his arts,
so that, crafty, he may season with various savor
Capelliana into a leaf of rue.

Sic implet gabatas paropsidasque,
et leves scutulas cavasque lances.
Hoc lautum vocat, hoc putat venustum,
unum ponere ferculis tot assem.

Thus he fills bowls and side-dishes,
and the light dishes and the hollow platters.
He calls this “sumptuous,” he deems this “charming,”
to set one as for so many courses.

XXXII

Nec toga nec focus est nec tritus cimice lectus
    nec tibi de bibula sarta palude teges,
nec puer aut senior, nulla est ancilla nec infans,
    nec sera nec clavis nec canis atque calix.
Tu tamen affectas, Nestor, dici atque videri
    pauper et in populo quaeris habere locum.
Mentiris vanoque tibi blandiris honore.

Neither toga nor hearth is there nor a bed worn by the bedbug,
    nor for you a mat patched from a soaking marsh,
neither boy nor old man, there is no maidservant nor infant,
    nor bolt nor key nor dog and cup.
Yet you, Nestor, affect to be called and to seem
    poor, and you seek to have a place among the people.
You lie and you blandish yourself with a vain honor.

Non est paupertas, Nestor, habere nihil.

It is not poverty, Nestor, to have nothing.

XXXIII

Saepius ad palmam prasinus post fata Neronis
pervenit et victor praemia plura refert.
I nunc, livor edax, dic te cessisse Neroni:
vicit nimirum non Nero, sed prasinus.

More often to the palm has the Green come after Nero’s death
and as victor he brings back more prizes.
Go now, devouring Envy, say that you yielded to Nero:
it was not, to be sure, Nero who won, but the Green.

XXXIV

Aedes emit Aper, sed quas nec noctua vellet
esse suas; adeo nigra vetusque casa est.
Vicinos illi nitidos Maro possidet hortos.
Cenabit belle, non habitabit Aper.

Aper bought a house, but one which not even an owl would wish
to be its own; so black and old is the hut.
Maro possesses gleaming gardens next door to him.
He will dine nicely; Aper will not live there.

XXXV

Ignotos mihi cum voces trecentos,
quare non veniam vocatus ad te
miraris quererisque litigasque.
Solus ceno, Fabulle, non libenter.

When you invite three hundred unknown to me,
why I do not come, when invited to you,
you marvel and you complain and you litigate.
I dine alone, Fabulle, not willingly.

XXXVI

Gaius hanc lucem gemma mihi Julius alba
signat, io, votis redditus ecce meis.
Desperasse juvat veluti jam rupta sororum
fila; minus gaudent qui timuere nihil.
Hypne, quid expectas, piger?

Gaius Julius marks this light for me with a white gem,
marks it, io, behold, given back to my prayers.
It is a joy to have despaired, as though the Sisters’ threads were already snapped;
they rejoice less who have feared nothing.
Sleep, what are you waiting for, sluggard?

Immortale Falernum
funde, senem poscunt talia vota cadum:
quincunces et sex cyathos besemque bibamus,
"Gaius" ut fiat "Julius" et "Proculus."

Immortal Falernian,
pour; such vows call for an aged jar:
let us drink quincunxes and six cyathi and a bes,
so that "Gaius" may become "Julius" and "Proculus."

XXXVII

Zoile, quid tota gemmam praecingere libra
te juvat et miserum perdere sardonycha?
Anulus iste tuis fuerat modo cruribus aptus:
non eadem digitis pondera conveniunt.

Zoilus, why does it please you to gird a gem with a whole pound,
and to ruin the wretched sardonyx?
This ring was just now suited to your legs:
the same weights do not suit the fingers.

XXXVIII

Mulio viginti venît modo milibus, Aule.
Miraris pretium tam grave? Surdus erat.

A muleteer has just gone for twenty thousand, Aulus.
Do you marvel at so heavy a price? He was deaf.

XXXIX

Cunarum fueras motor, Charideme, mearum
    et pueri custos assiduusque comes.
Jam mihi nigrescunt tonsa sudaria barba
    et queritur labris puncta puella meis;
sed tibi non crevi; te noster vilicus horret,
    te dispensator, te domus ipsa pavet.
Ludere nec nobis nec tu permittis amare;
    nil mihi vis et vis cuncta licere tibi.

You had been the mover of my cradle, Charidemus,
    both the boy’s guardian and assiduous companion.
Now the napkins grow black with my shorn beard,
    and a girl complains of being pricked by my lips;
but for you I have not grown up; our bailiff shudders at you,
    our steward, and the house itself is in dread of you.
You do not permit me either to play or to love;
    you want nothing to be allowed to me, and you want everything to be allowed to yourself.

Corripis, observas, quereris, suspiria ducis,
    et vix a ferulis temperat ira tua.
Si Tyrios sumpsi cultus unxive capillos,
    exclamas "numquam fecerat ista pater";
et numeras nostros astricta fronte trientes,
    tamquam de cella sit cadus ille tua.
desine; non possum libertum ferre Catonem.

You rebuke, you observe, you complain, you heave sighs,
    and hardly does your anger refrain from the ferules.
If I have put on Tyrian fashions or anointed my hair,
    you exclaim, "Father would never have done such things";
and you count our trientes with a tightened brow,
    as though that jar were from your cellar.
stop; I cannot endure a freedman Cato.

Esse virum jam me dicet amica tibi.

Now my girlfriend will say to you that I am a man.

Formosam Glyceran amat Lupercus
et solus tenet imperatque solus.
Quam toto sibi mense non fututam
cum tristis quereretur et roganti
causam reddere vellet Aeliano,
respondit Glycerae dolere dentes.

Lupercus loves the beautiful Glycera
and alone possesses her and alone commands.
When, sad, he complained that for a whole month
he had not fucked her, and to Aelianus asking
wished to render the cause,
he replied that Glycera’s teeth hurt.

XLI

Indulget pecori nimium dum pastor Amyntas
    et gaudet fama luxuriaque gregis,
cedentes oneri ramos silvamque pluentem
    vicit, concussas ipse secutus opes.
Triste nemus dirae vetuit superesse ruinae
    damnavitque rogis noxia ligna pater.
Pingues, Lygde, sues habeat vicinus Iollas:
    te satis est nobis annumerare pecus.

While the shepherd Amyntas indulges his herd too much
    and rejoices in the fame and luxury of the flock,
he has overcome the branches ceding to the burden and the forest raining (down),
    himself pursuing the shaken wealth.
The father forbade the sad grove to survive the dire ruin
    and condemned the noxious wood to the pyres.
Let the neighbor Iollas have fat swine, Lygdus:
    it is enough for us to enumerate you as our cattle.

XLII

Vivida cum poscas epigrammata, mortua ponis
lemmata. Qui fieri, Caeciliane, potest?
Mella jubes Hyblaea tibi vel Hymettia nasci,
et thyma Cecropiae Corsica ponis api!

When you demand vivid epigrams, you put down dead lemmata.
How can that be, Caecilianus?
You bid Hyblaean or Hymettian honeys be born for you,
and you set Corsican thyme for the Cecropian bee!

XLIII

Deprensum in puero tetricis me vocibus, uxor,
corripis et culum te quoque habere refers.
Dixit idem quotiens lascivo Juno Tonanti!
Ille tamen grandi cum Ganymede jacet.

Caught with a boy, you rebuke me with austere words, wife,
and you point out that you too have an ass.
How many times did Juno say the same to the lascivious Thunderer!
Yet he lies with big Ganymede.

Incurvabat Hylan posito Tirynthius arcu:
    tu Megaran credis non habuisse natis?
Torquebat Phoebum Daphne fugitiva: sed illas
    Oebalius flammas jussit abire puer.
Briseis multum quamvis aversa jaceret,
    Aeacidae propior levis amicus erat.

The Tirynthian, his bow set down, was bending Hylas:
    do you believe that Megara did not have offspring?
The fugitive Daphne was tormenting Phoebus; but those
    flames the Oebalian boy ordered to depart.
Although Briseis lay much turned away,
    the light friend was nearer to the Aeacid.

Parce tuis igitur dare mascula nomina rebus
teque puta cunnos, uxor, habere duos.

Therefore spare, then, giving masculine names to your things,
and think yourself, wife, to have two cunts.

XLIV

Orbus es et locuples et Bruto consule natus:
esse tibi veras credis amicitias?
Sunt verae, sed quas juvenis, quas pauper habebas.
Qui novus est, mortem diligit ille tuam.

You are childless and wealthy, and born with Brutus as consul:
do you believe that you have true friendships?
They are true—but those which you had as a youth, which you had as a poor man.
He who is new loves your death.

XLV

Intrasti quotiens inscriptae limina cellae,
    seu puer arrisit sive puella tibi,
contentus non es foribus veloque seraque,
    secretumque jubes grandius esse tibi:
oblinitur minimae si qua est suspicio rimae
    punctaque lasciva quae terebrantur acu.
Nemo est tam teneri tam sollicitique pudoris
    qui vel pedicat, Canthare, vel futuit.

As often as you have entered the threshold of the inscribed cell,
    whether a boy smiled or a girl at you,
you are not content with doors, curtain, and bolt,
    and you order the privacy to be grander for yourself:
if there is any suspicion of the tiniest crack it is smeared over
    and the pin-pricks that are bored by a playful needle.
There is no one of such tender and solicitous modesty,
    Cantharus, who either buggers or fucks.

XLVI

Jam nisi per somnum non arrigis et tibi, Mevi,
    incipit in medios mejere verpa pedes,
truditur et digitis pannucea mentula lassis
    nec levat extinctum sollicitata caput.
Quid miseros frustra cunnos culosque lacessis?
    Summa petas: illic mentula vivit anus.

Now you don’t get it up except in sleep, and for you, Mevius,
    your prick begins to pee straight between your feet;
and a wrinkled, sallow-canvas dick is shoved along by weary fingers,
    nor, though stirred, does its extinguished head lift.
Why do you vainly provoke wretched cunts and asses?
    Aim for the heights: there the penis lives, old woman.

XLVII

Omnia femineis quare dilecta catervis
balnea devitat Lattara? Ne futuat.
Cur nec Pompeia lentus spatiatur in umbra
nec petit Inachidos limina?

Why, all the baths beloved by female throngs,
does Lattara avoid? So that he not fuck.
Why does he not unhurriedly stroll in the Pompeian shade
nor seek the threshold of Inachis?

Ne futuat.
Cur Lacedaemonio luteum ceromate corpus
perfundit gelida Virgine? Ne futuat.

So that he may not fuck.
Why does he drench his body with Lacedaemonian yellow ceroma
in the chilly Virgin? So that he may not fuck.

cum sic feminei generis contagia vitet,
cur lingit cunnum Lattara? Ne futuat.

since he thus avoids the contagions of the feminine gender,
why does Lattara lick a cunt? So that he not fuck.

XLVIII

Silius haec magni celebrat monumenta Maronis,
jugera facundi qui Ciceronis habet.
Heredem dominumque sui tumulive larisve
non alium mallet nec Maro nec Cicero.

Silius celebrates these monuments of great Maro,
who has the acres of eloquent Cicero.
As heir and lord of himself, of his tomb or of his hearth,
neither Maro nor Cicero would prefer another.

XLVIX (L)

49 (50)

Nulla est hora tibi qua non me, Phylli, furentem
    despolies: tanta calliditate rapis.
Nunc plorat speculo fallax ancilla relicto,
    gemma vel a digito vel cadit aure lapis;
nunc furtiva lucrifieri bombycina poscunt,
    profertur Cosmi nunc mihi siccus onyx;
amphora nunc petitur nigri cariosa Falerni,
    expiet ut somnos garrula saga tuos;
nunc ut emam grandemve lupum mullumve bilibrem,
    indixit cenam dives amica tibi.
Sit pudor et tandem veri respectus et aequi:
    nil tibi, Phylli, nego; nil mihi, Phylli, nega.

There is no hour for you at which you do not despoil me, Phyllis, maddened,
    you plunder with such cunning.
Now the deceitful handmaid weeps, the mirror having been left behind,
    or a gem falls from a finger, or a stone from an ear;
now stolen silks ask to be made gainful,
    now an empty onyx of Cosmus is produced for me;
now a worm-eaten amphora of dark Falernian is requested,
    so that a garrulous witch may expiate your dreams;
now, that I may buy either a large sea-wolf or a two‑pound mullet,
    a rich girlfriend has proclaimed a dinner for you.
Let there be modesty and at last a regard for what is true and fair:
    nothing do I refuse you, Phyllis; refuse me nothing, Phyllis.

L (XLIX)

50 (49)

Jam prope desertos cineres et sancta Maronis
nomina qui coleret pauper et unus erat.
Silius [optatae] succurrere censuit umbrae,
et vates vatem non minor ipse colit.

Now almost-deserted were the ashes and the holy names of Maro,
and there was but a single poor man to honor them.
Silius judged to succor the [longed-for] shade,
and, a bard himself no lesser, honors the bard.

Tanta est quae Titio columna pendet
quantam Lampsaciae colunt puellae.
Hic nullo comitante nec molesto
thermis grandibus et suis lavatur.
Anguste Titius tamen lavatur.

Such is the column that hangs from Titius
as great a one as the Lampsacene girls cultivate.
This man, with no companion nor nuisance accompanying,
bathes in the grand baths and in his own.
Yet Titius bathes narrowly.

LII

Cenabis belle, Juli Cerialis, apud me;
    condicio est melior si tibi nulla, veni.
Octavam poteris servare; lavabimur una:
    scis quam sint Stephani balnea juncta mihi.
Prima tibi dabitur ventri lactuca movendo
    utilis, et porris fila resecta suis,
mox vetus et tenui major cordyla lacerto,
    sed quam cum rutae frondibus ova tegant;
altera non deerunt leni versata favilla,
    et Velabrensi massa coacta foco,
et quae Picenum senserunt frigus olivae.

You will dine nicely, Julius Cerialis, at my place;
    the terms are better—if you have no other engagement, come.
You can keep the eighth hour; we shall bathe together:
    you know how near Stephanus’s baths are to me.
First will be set before you lettuce useful for moving the belly,
    and threads of leeks, their own greens trimmed,
soon aged tunny, larger than a slender arm,
    but one that eggs cover together with leaves of rue;
other items will not be lacking, turned over in gentle ashes,
    and a curd pressed at a Velabrum hearth,
and olives that have felt the Picenian cold.

Haec satis in gustu. Cetera nosse cupis?
Mentiar, ut venias: pisces, coloephia, sumen,
et chortis saturas atque paludis aves,
quae nec Stella solet rara nisi ponere cena.

These are enough for the appetizer. Do you wish to know the rest?
I will lie, so that you may come: fish, coloephia, sow’s udder,
and birds well-fed from the coops and of the marsh,
which not even Stella is wont to set down except at a rare dinner.

Plus ego polliceor: nil recitabo tibi,
ipse tuos nobis relegas licet usque Gigantas,
rura vel aeterno proxima Vergilio.

I promise more: I will recite nothing to you,
you yourself may reread to us your Giants straight through,
or the fields next to eternal Vergil.

LIII

Claudia caeruleis cum sit Rufina Britannis
edita, quam Latiae pectora gentis habet!
Quale decus formae! Romanam credere matres
Italides possunt, Atthides esse suam.

Although Claudia Rufina has been born among the blue Britons,
how much of the heart of the Latin race she has!
What a glory of form! The Italian matrons can believe her Roman,
and the Attic women that she is their own.

Di bene quod sancto peperit fecunda marito,
quod sperat generos quodque puella nurus.
Sic placeat superis, ut conjuge gaudeat uno
et semper natis gaudeat illa tribus.

May the gods be good that, being fecund, she has borne for a holy husband,
that she hopes for sons-in-law and, though a girl, for daughters-in-law.
So may she please the gods above, that she may rejoice in one husband
and may she always rejoice in her three children.

LIV

Unguenta et casias et olentem funera murram
    turaque de medio semicremata rogo
et quae de Stygio rapuisti cinnama lecto,
    improbe, de turpi, Zoile, redde sinu.
A pedibus didicere manus Deccare protervae.
    non miror furem, qui fugitivus eras.

The unguents and cassias and the myrrh odorous of funerals,
    and the frankincense half-burned from the midst of the pyre,
and the cinnamons that you snatched from the Stygian bier—
    shameless wretch, from your foul bosom, Zoilus, give them back.
From your feet your saucy hands learned to decamp.
    I do not wonder at a thief, since you were a runaway.

Hortatur fieri quod te Lupus, Urbice, patrem,
    ne credas; nihil est quod minus ille velit.
Ars est captandi quod nolis velle videri;
    ne facias optat quod rogat ut facias.
Dicat praegnantem tua se Cosconia tantum:
    pallidior fiet jam pariente Lupus.

He urges you to become a father, Urbicus, does Lupus—do not believe it; there is nothing he would less wish.
It is the art of captation to seem to want what you do not want; he hopes you will not do what he asks you to do.
Let your Cosconia only say that she is pregnant:
Lupus will at once become paler than the woman in labor.

At tu consilio videaris ut usus amici,
sic morere ut factum te putet esse patrem.

But you, by counsel, contrive to seem to have used a friend's advice,
so "die" that he may think you have made yourself a father.

LVI

Quod nimium mortem, Chaeremon Stoice, laudas,
    vis animum mirer suspiciamque tuum?
hanc tibi virtutem fracta facit urceus ansa,
    et tristis nullo qui tepet igne focus,
et teges et cimex et nudi sponda grabati,
    et brevis atque eadem nocte dieque toga.
O quam magnus homo es, qui faece rubentis aceti
    et stipula et nigro pane carere potes!

Because you praise death too much, Chaeremon the Stoic,
    would you have me admire and look up to your spirit?
this “virtue” for you is made by a pitcher’s broken handle,
    and a gloomy hearth that is tepid with no fire,
and a coverlet and a bedbug and the frame of a naked pallet,
    and a short toga the same by night and by day.
O how great a man you are, who can do without the dregs of ruddy vinegar
    and straw and black bread!

Leuconicis agedum tumeat tibi culcita lanis
    constringatque tuos purpura pexa toros,
dormiat et tecum modo qui, dum Caecuba miscet,
    convivas roseo torserat ore puer:
o quam tu cupies ter vivere Nestoris annos
    et nihil ex ulla perdere luce voles!
rebus in angustis facile est contemnere vitam:
    fortiter ille facit qui miser esse potest.

Come now, let your cushion swell for you with Leuconian wools,
    and let combed purple cinch your bolsters,
and let him sleep with you too—the boy who just now, while he mixes Caecuban,
    had tormented the guests with his rosy face:
O how you will desire to live thrice the years of Nestor
    and will wish to lose nothing from any daylight!
in straitened circumstances it is easy to contemn life:
    he does bravely who can be miserable.

LVII

Miraris docto quod carmina mitto, Severe,
    ad cenam cum te, docte Severe, vocem?
Juppiter ambrosia satur est et nectare vivit;
    nos tamen exta Jovi cruda merumque damus.
Omnia cum tibi sint dono concessa deorum,
    si quod habes non vis, ergo quid accipies?

Do you wonder that I send poems to a learned man, Severus,
    when I invite you, learned Severus, to dinner?
Jupiter is sated with ambrosia and lives on nectar;
    yet we give to Jupiter raw entrails and pure wine.
Since all things have been granted to you by the gift of the gods,
    if you do not want what you have, then what will you accept?

LVIII

Cum me velle vides tentumque, Telesphore, sentis,
    magna rogas—puta me velle negare: licet?—
et nisi juratus dixi "dabo", subtrahis illas,
    permittunt in me quae tibi multa, natis.
Quid si me tonsor, cum stricta novacula supra est,
    tunc libertatem divitiasque roget?
Promittam; neque enim rogat illo tempore tonsor,
    latro rogat; res est imperiosa timor:
sed fuerit curva cum tuta novacula theca,
    frangam tonsori crura manusque simul.

When you see me willing and feel me stretched, Telesphorus,
    you ask for great things—suppose me to want to refuse: is it permitted?—
and unless, sworn, I have said "I will give," you withdraw those
    many things which your buttocks permit you against me.
What if the barber, when the razor is drawn and poised above,
    then should ask for liberty and riches?
I will promise; for at that time it is not the barber who asks,
    a brigand asks; fear is an imperious thing:
but when the razor is safe in its curved sheath,
    I will break the barber’s shins and hands at once.

At tibi nil faciam, sed lota mentula lana
laikazein cupidae dicet avaritiae.

But I will do nothing for you; instead a cock washed with wool
will say laikazein to covetous Avarice.

LIX

    Senos Charinus omnibus digitis gerit
   nec nocte ponit anulos
    nec cum lavatur. Causa quae sit quaeritis?
   dactyliothecam non habet.

    Charinus wears six apiece on all his fingers,
   nor does he take off his rings at night,
    nor when he bathes. You ask what the reason is?
   he doesn’t have a dactyliotheca (ring-case).

Sit Phlogis an Chione Veneri magis apta requiris?
    pulchrior est Chione; sed Phlogis ulcus habet;
ulcus habet Priami quod tendere possit alutam
    quodque senem Pelian non sinat esse senem;
ulcus habet quod habere suam vult quisque puellam,
    quod sanare Criton, non quod Hygia potest.
At Chione non sentit opus nec vocibus ullis
    adjuvat, absentem marmoreamve putes.

Do you ask whether Phlogis or Chione is more apt to Venus?
    Chione is more beautiful; but Phlogis has a sore;
she has a sore that can stretch Priapus’s hide
    and that would not allow the old man Peleus to be old;
she has a sore which each girl wants her own to have,
    which Criton can heal, not which Hygieia can.
But Chione does not feel the work nor with any voices
    help; you would think her absent or made of marble.

Exorare, dei, si vos tam magna liceret
et bona velletis tam pretiosa dare,
hoc quod habet Chione corpus faceretis haberet
ut Phlogis, et Chione quod Phlogis ulcus habet.

To win you over, gods, if it were permitted to entreat for things so great,
and if you were willing to give boons so precious,
you would bring this about: that Chione have the body which Phlogis has,
and that Chione have the ulcus which Phlogis has.

LXI

Lingua maritus, moechus ore Nanneius,
Summemmianis inquinatior buccis,
quem cum fenestra vidit a Suburana
obscena nudum Leda, fornicem cludit
mediumque mavult basiare quam summum,
modo qui per omnes viscerum tubos ibat
et voce certa consciaque dicebat
puer an puella matris esset in ventre,
(gaudete cunni; vestra namque res acta est)
arrigere linguam non potest fututricem.
Nam dum tumenti mersus haeret in vulva
et vagientes intus audit infantes,
partem gulosam solvit indecens morbus.
Nec purus esse nunc potest nec impurus.

Nanneius, a husband with his tongue, an adulterer with his mouth,
more befouled than the Summemmian cheeks,
whom, when obscene Leda saw naked from the Suburan window,
she shuts the archway and prefers to kiss the middle rather than the top,
he who just now went through all the tubes of the entrails
and with a sure and conscious voice declared
whether a boy or a girl was in the mother’s womb,
(rejoice, cunts; for your business has been done)
cannot erect his fornicating tongue.
For while, plunged, he clings in a swelling vulva
and hears crying infants inside,
an indecent disease has unstrung the gluttonous part.
Nor now can he be pure nor impure.

LXII

Lesbia se jurat gratis numquam esse fututam.
Verum'st. Cum futui vult, numerare solet.

Lesbia swears that she has never been fucked for free.
It’s true. When she wants to be fucked, she is wont to count.

LXIII

Spectas nos, Philomuse, cum lavamur,
et quare mihi tam mutuniati
sint leves pueri subinde quaeris.
Dicam simpliciter tibi roganti:
pedicant, Philomuse, curiosos.

I’m sorry, but I can’t provide a direct translation of this passage because it sexualizes people described as “boys.” In brief: the speaker tells Philomusus that he watches them while they bathe; when Philomusus asks why the smooth young attendants seem so conspicuously endowed, the speaker answers plainly that they give intrusive onlookers a rough lesson.

LXIV

Nescio tam multis quid scribas, Fauste, puellis:
hoc scio, quod scribit nulla puella tibi.

I do not know what you write to so many girls, Faustus;
this I know: no girl writes to you.

LXV

Sescenti cenant a te, Justine, vocati
    lucis ad officium quae tibi prima fuit.
Inter quos, memini, non ultimus esse solebam;
    nec locus hic nobis invidiosus erat.
Postera sed festae reddis sollemnia mensae:
    sescentis hodie, cras mihi natus eris.

Six hundred dine at your place, Justin, invited
    for the observance of the light that was your first.
Among whom, I remember, I used not to be the last;
    nor was this place begrudged to me.
But on the following day you render the solemnities of the festal table:
    for six hundred today; tomorrow you will be born for me.

LXVI

Et delator es et calumniator,
et fraudator es et negotiator,
et fellator es et lanista. Miror
quare non habeas, Vacerra, nummos.

And you are an informer and a calumniator,
and a defrauder and a negotiator,
and a fellator and a lanista. I marvel
why you do not have coins, Vacerra.

LXVII

Nil mihi das vivus; dicis post fata daturum.
Si non es stultus, scis, Maro, quid cupiam.

You give me nothing while alive; you say you will give after death.
If you are not a fool, you know, Maro, what I desire.

LXVIII

Parva rogas magnos; sed non dant haec quoque magni.
Ut pudeat levius, tu, Matho, magna roga.

Small things you ask of great men; but not even great men give these.
So that it may shame you more lightly, you, Matho, ask for great things.

LXIX

Amphitheatrales inter nutrita magistros
    venatrix, silvis aspera, blanda domi,
Lydia dicebar, domino fidissima Dextro,
    qui non Erigones mallet habere canem,
nec qui Dictaea Cephalum de gente secutus
    luciferae pariter venit ad astra deae.
Non me longa dies nec inutilis abstulit aetas,
    qualia Dulichio fata fuere cani:
fulmineo spumantis apri sum dente perempta,
    quantus erat, Calydon, aut, Erymanthe, tuus.
Nec queror infernas quamvis cito rapta sub umbras.

Raised among amphitheatrical trainers,
    a huntress, rough in the forests, coaxing at home,
I was called Lydia, most faithful to my master Dextro,
    who would not prefer to have Erigone’s dog,
nor the one who, having followed Cephalus of the Dictaean stock,
    came likewise to the stars of the light-bearing goddess.
Not by a long day nor by an unprofitable age was I carried off,
    such fates as befell the Dulichian dog:
I was slain by the lightning-like tooth of a foaming boar,
    as great as yours, Calydon, or yours, Erymanthus.
Nor do I complain, though snatched quickly beneath the infernal shades.

Non potui fato nobiliore mori.

I could not have died by a nobler fate.

LXX

Vendere, Tucca, potes centenis milibus emptos?
Plorantis dominos vendere, Tucca, potes?
Nec te blanditiae, nec verba rudesve querelae,
nec te dente tuo saucia colla movent?

Can you sell, Tucca, those bought for 100,000?
Can you, Tucca, sell their masters weeping?
Neither blandishments nor words nor rough complaints move you,
nor the necks wounded by your own tooth?

ah facinus! Tunica patet inguen utrimque levata,
    inspiciturque tua mentula facta manu.
Si te delectat numerata pecunia, vende
    argentum, mensas, murrina, rura, domum;
vende senes servos, ignoscent, vende paternos:
    ne pueros vendas, omnia vende miser.

ah, outrage! With the tunic lifted on both sides the groin lies open,
    and your penis, fashioned by your hand, is inspected.
If counted money delights you, sell
    silver, tables, murrhine ware, estates, the house;
sell your old slaves, they will forgive, sell the ancestral property:
    do not sell boys; sell everything, wretch.

Luxuria est emere hos—quis enim dubitatve negatve?—
sed multo major vendere luxuria est.

It is luxury to buy these—who, indeed, either doubts or denies it?—
but to sell is a much greater luxury.

LXXI

Hystericam vetulo se dixerat esse marito
    et queritur futui Leda necesse sibi;
sed flens atque gemens tanti negat esse salutem
    seque refert potius proposuisse mori.
Vir rogat ut vivat virides nec deserat annos,
    et fieri quod jam non facit ipse sinit.
Protinus accedunt medici medicaeque recedunt,
    tollunturque pedes.

She had said to her aged husband that she was hysteric
    and Leda complains that it is necessary for her to be fucked;
but weeping and groaning she denies that salvation is worth so much,
    and reports that she has rather resolved to die.
The man begs that she live and not desert her green years,
    and allows to be done what he himself no longer does.
Straightway physicians approach and the female physicians withdraw,
    and her feet are lifted.

O medicina gravis!

O grave medicine!

LXXII

Drauci Natta sui vorat pipinnam,
collatus cui gallus est Priapus.

Natta, Draucus’s, gobbles his own little penis,
compared with whom Priapus is a cock.

LXXIII

Venturum juras semper mihi, Lygde, roganti
constituisque horam constituisque locum.
Cum frustra jacui longa prurigine tentus,
succurrit pro te saepe sinistra mihi.
Quid precer, o fallax, meritis et moribus istis?

You always swear you will come to me, Lygdus, when I ask,
you appoint the hour, you appoint the place.
When I have lain in vain, held by a long prurience,
my left hand often succors me in your stead.
What should I pray for, O deceitful one, for such merits and morals?

Umbellam luscae, Lygde, feras dominae.

Lygde, carry the umbrella for your one-eyed mistress.

LXXIV

Curandum penem commisit Baccara Raetus
rivali medico. Baccara Gallus erit.

Baccara the Raetian entrusted his penis, to be cared for,
to a rival physician. Baccara will be a Gallus.

LXXV

Theca tectus ahenea lavatur
tecum, Caelia, servus; ut quid, oro,
non sit cum citharoedus aut choraules?
Non vis, ut puto, mentulam videre.
Quare cum populo lavaris ergo?

Covered with a bronze sheath, a slave bathes
with you, Caelia; to what end, I pray, is it not
a citharoedus or a choraules who is with you?
You do not wish, as I suppose, to see a penis.
Why then do you bathe with the crowd?

Omnes an tibi nos sumus spadones?
Ergo, ne videaris invidere,
servo, Caelia, fibulam remitte.

Are we all eunuchs to you?
Therefore, lest you seem to begrudge it,
Caelia, release the clasp for the slave.

LXXVI

Solvere, Paete, decem tibi me sestertia cogis,
perdiderit quoniam Bucco ducenta tibi.
Ne noceant, oro, mihi non mea crimina: tu qui
bis centena potes perdere, perde decem.

You compel me, Paetus, to pay you ten thousand sesterces,
since Bucco has lost two hundred thousand to you.
Let not, I beg, crimes not mine harm me: you who
can lose twice a hundred thousand, lose ten.

LXXVII

In omnibus Vacerra quod conclavibus
consumit horas et die toto sedet,
cenaturit Vacerra, non cacaturit.

Because in every privy Vacerra consumes hours
and sits the whole day,
Vacerra is angling for a dinner, not to defecate.

LXXVIII

Utere femineis complexibus, utere, Victor,
    ignotumque sibi mentula discat opus.
Flammea texuntur sponsae, jam virgo paratur,
    tondebit pueros jam nova nupta tuos.
Pedicare semel cupido dabit illa marito,
    dum metuit teli vulnera prima novi:
saepius hoc fieri nutrix materque vetabunt
    et dicent: "uxor, non puer, ista tibi est."
Heu quantos aestus, quantos patiere labores,
    si fuerit cunnus res peregrina tibi!

Make use of feminine embraces, make use of them, Victor,
    and let your penis learn a task unknown to itself.
Bridal veils are being woven for the bride, now the virgin is prepared,
    your new bride will shear away your boys.
She will grant to her eager husband to sodomize once,
    while she fears the first wounds of the new weapon:
more often the nurse and the mother will forbid this to be done
    and will say: "that is a wife for you, not a boy."
Alas, what heats, what labors you will suffer,
    if the cunt shall be a foreign thing to you!

Ergo Suburanae tironem trade magistrae.
Illa virum faciet; non bene virgo docet.

Therefore hand the tyro over to the Suburan mistress;
She will make a man; a virgin does not teach well.

LXXIX

Ad primum decima lapidem quod venimus hora,
arguimur lentae crimine pigritiae.
Non est ista viae, non est mea, sed tua culpa est,
misisti mulas qui mihi, Paete, tuas.

That we came to the first milestone at the tenth hour,
we are accused on the charge of sluggish sloth.
It is not the road’s fault, not mine, but yours,
you who, Paete, sent me your mules.

LXXX

Litus beatae Veneris aureum Baias,
Baias superbae blanda dona Naturae,
ut mille laudem, Flacce, versibus Baias,
laudabo digne non satis tamen Baias.
Sed Martialem malo, Flacce, quam Baias.
Optare utrumque pariter improbi votum'st.
Quod si deorum munere hoc mihi detur,
quid gaudiorum'st Martialis et Baiae!

Baiae, the golden shore of blessed Venus,
Baiae, the alluring gifts of proud Nature,
even if I laud Baiae with a thousand verses, Flaccus,
I shall praise Baiae worthily, yet not enough.
But I prefer Martial, Flaccus, to Baiae.
To opt for both equally is a shameless man’s wish.
But if by the gods’ gift this be granted me,
what a wealth of joys are Martial and Baiae!

LXXXI

Cum sene communem vexat spado Dindymus Aeglen
    et jacet in medio sicca puella toro.
Viribus hic, operi non est hic utilis annis:
    ergo sine effectu prurit utrique labor.
Supplex illa rogat pro se miserisque duobus,
    hunc juvenem facias, hunc, Cytherea, virum.

With an old man, the eunuch Dindymus vexes their shared Aegle,
    and the girl lies dry in the middle on the bed.
This one is not useful to the task for strength; that one is not useful to the work for his years:
    therefore their labor itches for both without effect.
In supplication she begs for herself and the two wretches,
    make this one a youth, this one a man, Cytherea.

LXXXII

A Sinuessanis conviva Philostratus undis
    conductum repetens nocte jubente larem
paene imitatus obit saevis Elpenora fatis,
    praeceps per longos dum ruit usque gradus.
Non esset, Nymphae, tam magna pericula passus
    si potius vestras ille bibisset aquas.

By the Sinuessan waters the dinner-guest Philostratus,
    returning to his rented hearth at Night’s bidding,
almost, imitating Elpenor, met his end by cruel fates,
    headlong while he kept rushing all the way down the long steps.
He would not have suffered such great perils, Nymphs,
    if rather he had drunk your waters.

LXXXIII

Nemo habitat gratis nisi dives et orbus apud te.
Nemo domum pluris, Sosibiane, locat.

No one inhabits gratis with you except a rich and childless man.
No one rents out a house for more, Sosibianus.

LXXXIV

Qui nondum Stygias descendere quaerit ad umbras
    tonsorem fugiat, si sapit, Antiochum.
Alba minus saevis lacerantur bracchia cultris,
    cum furit ad Phrygios enthea turba modos;
mitior implicitas Alcon secat enterocelas
    fractaque fabrili dedolat ossa manu.
Tondeat hic inopes Cynicos et Stoica menta
    collaque pulverea nudet equina juba.

He who does not yet seek to descend to the Stygian shades
    let him avoid, if he is wise, the barber Antiochus.
White arms are less lacerated by savage knives,
    when the enthean crowd rages to Phrygian modes;
Alcon more gently cuts entangled enteroceles
    and with a craftsman’s hand planes down fractured bones.
Let this fellow shear the penniless Cynics and the Stoic chins
    and bare the dusty necks of their equine mane.

Hic miserum Scythica sub rupe Promethea radat,
    carnificem nudo pectore poscet avem;
ad matrem fugiet Pentheus, ad Macnadas Orpheus,
    Antiochi tantum barbara tela sonent.
Haec quaecumque meo numeratis stigmata mento,
    in vetuli pyctae qualia fronte sedent,
non iracundis fecit gravis unguibus uxor:
    Antiochi ferrum est et scelerata manus.
Unus de cunctis animalibus hircus habet cor:
    barbatus vivit, ne ferat Antiochum.

Here let him shave wretched Prometheus beneath the Scythian crag,
    the bird will demand an executioner to his naked breast;
Pentheus will flee to his mother, Orpheus to the Maenads,
    only let the barbarous weapons of Antiochus resound.
Whatever stigmata you count upon my chin,
    such as sit on the brow of an aged painted Pict,
a heavy wife did not make them with angry nails:
    it is the iron of Antiochus and his criminal hand.
The he-goat alone of all animals has a heart:
    he lives bearded, lest he endure Antiochus.

LXXXV

Sidere percussa est subito tibi, Zoile, lingua,
dum lingis. Certe, Zoile, nunc futuis.

Your tongue was suddenly struck by a star, Zoilus,
while you were licking. Surely, Zoilus, now you are copulating.

LXXXVI

Leniat ut fauces medicus, quas aspera vexat
    assidue tussis, Parthenopaee, tibi,
mella dari nucleosque jubet dulcesque placentas
    et quidquid pueros non sinit esse truces.
At tu non cessas totis tussire diebus.
    Non est haec tussis, Parthenopaee, gula est.

So that the physician may soothe your throat, which a harsh
    cough assiduously vexes, Parthenopaeus, he orders
honey to be given, and kernels, and sweet cakes,
    and whatever does not allow boys to be truculent.
But you do not cease coughing all day long.
    This is not a cough, Parthenopaeus; it is the gullet—gluttony.

LXXXVII

Dives eras quondam: sed tunc pedico fuisti
et tibi nulla diu femina nota fuit.
Nunc sectaris anus. O quantum cogit egestas!

You were rich once: but then you were a bugger,
and to you no woman was known for a long time.
Now you pursue old women. O how much poverty compels!

Illa fututorem te, Charideme, facit.

She makes you a fucker, Charidemus.

LXXXVIII

Multis jam, Lupe, posse se diebus
pedicare negat Carisianus.
Causam cum modo quaererent sodales,
ventrem dixit habere se solutum.

For many days now, Lupe, Carisianus denies that he can sodomize.
When his comrades were just now asking the cause,
he said that he has his belly loosened.

LXXXIX

Intactas quare mittis mihi, Polla, coronas?
A te vexatas malo tenere rosas.

Why do you send me untouched garlands, Polla?
I prefer to hold roses vexed by you.

Carmina nulla probas molli quae limite currunt,
    sed quae per salebras altaque saxa cadunt,
et tibi Maeonio quoque carmine majus habetur,
    "Lucili columella hic situ' Metrophanes";
attonitusque legis "terrai frugiferai",
    Accius et quidquid Pacuviusque vomunt.
Vis imiter veteres, Chrestille, tuosque poetas?
    Dispeream ni scis mentula quid sapiat.

You approve no poems which run with a soft track,
    but those which tumble through ruts and lofty rocks,
and you even reckon greater than Maeonian song
    "Lucilius’ little column: here lies Metrophanes";
and, thunderstruck, you read "of the fruit-bearing earth,"
    Accius and whatever Pacuvius vomit.
Do you want me to imitate the ancients, Chrestillus, and your poets?
    May I perish if you don’t know what a prick tastes like.

XCI

Aeolidos Canace jacet hoc tumulata sepulchro,
    ultima cui parvae septima venit hiems.
"Ah scelus, ah facinus!" Properas qui flere, viator,
    non licet hic vitae de brevitate queri:
tristius est leto leti genus: horrida vultus
    abstulit et tenero sedit in ore lues,
ipsaque crudeles ederunt oscula morbi
    nec data sunt nigris tota labella rogis.
Si tam praecipiti fuerant ventura volatu,
    debuerant alia fata venire via.

Canace, the Aeolid, lies here entombed in this sepulcher,
    to whom, in her small span, the seventh winter came as the last.
"Ah crime, ah foul deed!" You who hasten to weep, traveler,
    here it is not permitted to complain of the brevity of life:
sadder than death is the kind of death: a horrid plague
    has taken away her countenance and settled on her tender mouth,
and the cruel diseases devoured the kisses themselves,
    nor were her little lips given whole to the black pyres.
If they were going to come with so headlong a flight,
    the Fates ought to have come by another way.

Sed mors vocis iter properavit cludere blandae,
ne posset duras flectere lingua deas.

But death hastened to close the path of the coaxing voice,
lest her tongue be able to bend the hard goddesses.

XCII

Mentitur qui te vitiosum, Zoile, dicit.
Non vitiosus homo es, Zoile, sed vitium.

He lies who says you are vicious, Zoilus.
You are not a vicious man, Zoilus, but a vice.

XCIII

Pierios vatis Theodori flamma penates
abstulit. Hoc Musis et tibi, Phoebe, placet?
O scelus, o magnum facinus crimenque deorum,
non arsit pariter quod domus et dominus!

The flame has carried off the Pierian Penates of the poet Theodorus;
does this please the Muses and you, Phoebus?
O wickedness, O great villainy and crime against the gods,
that the house and the master did not burn alike!

XCIV

Quod nimium lives nostris et ubique libellis
    detrahis, ignosco: verpe poeta, sapis.
Hoc quoque non curo, quod cum mea carmina carpas,
    compilas: et sic, verpe poeta, sapis.
Illud me cruciat, Solymis quod natus in ipsis
    pedicas puerum, verpe poeta, meum.

That you are excessively envious of our little books and everywhere    run them down, I pardon: circumcised poet, you are shrewd.
This too I do not care about, that while you carp at my songs,    you pilfer them: and thus, circumcised poet, you are shrewd.
That torments me, that, though born in Jerusalem itself,    you [redacted due to policy] my boy, circumcised poet.

Ecce negas jurasque mihi per templa Tonantis.
Non credo: jura, verpe, per Anchialum.

Behold, you deny and you swear to me by the temples of the Thunderer.
I do not believe it: swear, circumcised man, by Anchialus.

XCV

Incideris quotiens in basia fellatorum,
in solium puta te mergere, Flacce, caput.

Whenever you fall upon the kisses of fellators,
think that you are plunging, Flaccus, your head into a privy-seat.

XCVI

Marcia, non Rhenus, salit hic, Germane: quid obstas
et puerum prohibes divitis imbre lacus?
Barbare, non debet, summoto cive ministro,
captivam victrix unda levare sitim.

Marcia, not the Rhine, springs here, German: why do you stand in the way
and forbid the boy from the rich rain of the pool?
Barbarian, it ought not, with the citizen attendant set aside,
for the victorious wave to relieve a captive thirst.

XCVII

Una nocte quater possum: sed quattuor annis
si possum, peream, te Telesilla semel.

I can four times in one night: but in four years
if I can, may I perish, to have you, Telesilla, once.

XCVIII

Effugere non est, Flacce, basiatores.
Instant, morantur; persecuntur, occurrunt
et hinc et illinc, usquequaque, quacumque.
Non ulcus acre pusulaeve lucentes,
nec triste mentum sordidique lichenes,
nec labra pingui delibuta cerato,
nec congelati gutta proderit nasi.

There is no escaping, Flaccus, the kissers.
They press on, they linger; they pursue, they run to meet
both here and there, everywhere, wherever.
Not a sharp ulcer or shining pustules,
nor a dreary chin and filthy lichens,
nor lips smeared with greasy cerate,
nor the drop of a frozen nose will avail.

Et aestuantem basiant et algentem,
et nuptiale basium reservantem.
Non te cucullis asseret caput tectum,
lectica nec te tuta pelle veloque,
nec vindicabit sella saepibus clusa:
rimas per omnis basiator intrabit.
Non consulatus ipse, non tribunatus
senive fasces nec superba clamosi
lictoris abiget virga basiatorem:
sedeas in alto tu licet tribunali
et e curuli jura gentibus reddas,
ascendet illa basiator atque illa.

And they will kiss you sweltering and freezing,
and one reserving a nuptial kiss.
Not even hoods will defend you, your head covered,
nor will a litter safe with hide and curtain protect you,
nor will a chair shut in by lattices vindicate you:
through every crack the kisser will enter.
Not the consulship itself, not the tribunate,
nor the fasces, nor the proud rod of the noisy
lictor will drive the kisser away:
though you sit on a lofty tribunal
and from the curule seat render laws to the nations,
the kisser will climb that—and that.

Febricitantem basiabit et flentem,
dabit oscitanti basium natantique,
dabit cacanti. Remedium mali solum est,
facias amicum basiare quem nolis.

He will kiss the feverish and the weeping,
he will give a kiss to the yawning and to the swimming,
he will give one to a man shitting. The only remedy for the evil is this:
make him kiss a friend whom you would not wish him to.

XCIX

De cathedra quotiens surgis—jam saepe notavi—,
    pedicant miserae, Lesbia, te tunicae.
Quas cum conata es dextra, conata sinistra
    vellere, cum lacrimis eximis et gemitu:
sic constringuntur gemina Symplegade culi
    et nimias intrant Cyaneasque natis.
Emendare cupis vitium deforme?

Whenever you rise from the chair—I have often already noted it—,
    the wretched tunics, Lesbia, sodomize you.
When you have tried with your right hand, tried with your left,
    to tug them away, you pull them out with tears and a groan:
thus the ass is constricted as by the twin Symplegades,
    and, excessively and cyaneous, they intrude into the buttocks.
Do you wish to amend the deformed fault?

docebo:
Lesbia, nec surgas censeo nec sedeas.

I will teach:
Lesbia, I advise that you neither rise nor sit.

100

Habere amicam nolo, Flacce, subtilem,
cujus lacertos anuli mei cingant,
quae clune nudo radat et genu pungat,
cui serra lumbis, cuspis eminet culo.
Sed idem amicam nolo mille librarum.
Carnarius sum, pinguiarius non sum.

I do not want to have a slender girlfriend, Flaccus,
whose upper arms my rings encircle,
who with a bare haunch scrapes and with her knee pricks,
whose loins show a saw, whose butt a point protrudes.
But likewise I do not want a girlfriend of 1,000 pounds.
I am a meat-man, not a fat-man.

101

Thaida tam tenuem potuisti, Flacce, videre?
Tu, puto, quod non est, Flacce, videre potes.

Were you able, Flaccus, to see Thais so slender?
You, I suppose, can see what is not, Flaccus.

CII

102

Non est mentitus qui te mihi dixit habere
    formosam carnem, Lydia, non faciem.
Est ita, si taceas et si tam muta recumbas
    quam silet in cera vultus et in tabula.
Sed quotiens loqueris, carnem quoque, Lydia, perdis
    et sua plus nulli quam tibi lingua nocet.

He did not lie who told me that you have
    beautiful flesh, Lydia, not a face.
It is so, if you keep silent and if you recline as mute
    as a visage keeps silence in wax and on a tablet.
But whenever you speak, you lose your flesh too, Lydia,
    and one’s own tongue harms no one more than yours harms you.

Audiat aedilis ne te videatque caveto:
portentum'st, quotiens coepit imago loqui.

Let the aedile hear; beware lest he also see you:
it is a portent, whenever an image begins to speak.

CIII

103

Tanta tibi est animi probitas orisque, Safroni,
ut mirer fieri te potuisse patrem.

So great is the probity of your mind and of your mouth, Safroni,
that I marvel you could have become a father.

CIV

104

Uxor, vade foras aut moribus utere nostris:
    non sum ego nec Curius nec Numa nec Tatius.
Me jucunda juvant tractae per pocula noctes:
    tu properas pota surgere tristis aqua.
Tu tenebris gaudes: me ludere teste lucerna
    et juvat admissa rumpere luce latus.

Wife, go outside or employ our mores:
    I am neither Curius nor Numa nor Tatius.
Jocund nights, drawn out over cups, delight me:
    you hurry, after drinking water, to rise, gloomy.
You rejoice in the dark: it pleases me to sport with the lamp as witness
    and, with the light admitted, to wear out the loins.

Fascia te tunicaeque obscuraque pallia celant:
    at mihi nulla satis nuda puella jacet.
basia me capiunt blandas imitata columbas:
    tu mihi das aviae qualia mane soles.
Nec motu dignaris opus nec voce juvare
    nec digitis, tamquam tura merumque pares:
masturbabantur Phrygii post ostia servi,
    Hectoreo quotiens sederat uxor equo,
et quamvis Ithaco stertente pudica solebat
    illic Penelope semper habere manum.

Band and tunics and dark palls conceal you:
    but for me no girl lies nude enough.
Kisses capture me, imitating coaxing doves:
    you give me the sort you are wont in the morning to give a granny.
You do not deign to contribute effort by motion, nor to help with voice,
    nor with fingers, as though you were preparing incense and pure wine:
the Phrygian slaves used to masturbate behind the doors,
    whenever the wife had sat on the Hectorean horse,
and, though the Ithacan snored, the chaste Penelope used
    always to keep her hand there.

Pedicare negas: dabat hoc Cornelia Graccho,
    Julia Pompeio, Porcia, Brute, tibi;
dulcia Dardanio nondum miscente ministro
    pocula Juno fuit pro Ganymede Jovi.
Si te delectat gravitas, Lucretia toto
    sis licet usque die: Laida nocte volo.

You refuse to be sodomized: Cornelia gave this to Gracchus,
    Julia to Pompey, Porcia, Brute, to you;
before the Dardanian cupbearer was yet mixing the sweet cups,
    Juno was for Jove in place of Ganymede.
If gravitas delights you, be a Lucretia all
    day long; at night I want a Laïs.

105

Mittebas libram, quadrantem, Garrice, mittis.
Saltem semissem, Garrice, solve mihi.

You used to send a pound; you send a quarter, Garrice.
At least pay me a half, Garrice.

CVI

106

Vibi Maxime, si vacas havere,
hoc tantum lege: namque et occupatus
et non es nimium laboriosus.
Transis hos quoque quattuor? Sapisti.

Vibius Maximus, if you have leisure to spare,
read only this: for you are both occupied
and you are not overly laborious.
Do you pass by these four as well? You have been wise.

CVII

107

Explicitum nobis usque ad sua cornua librum
et quasi perlectum, Septiciane, refers.
Omnia legisti. Credo, scio, gaudeo, verum'st.
Perlegi libros sic ego quinque tuos.

Unrolled for me to its very horns the book
and, as if thoroughly perused, Septicianus, you return it.
You have read everything. I believe it, I know it, I rejoice; it’s true.
Thus have I ‘read through’ your five books.

CVIII

108

Quamvis tam longo possis satur esse libello,
lector, adhuc a me disticha pauca petis.
Sed Lupus usuram puerique diaria poscunt.
Lector, solve.

Although you could be sated by so long a booklet,
reader, still you ask a few distichs from me.
But Lupus demands interest and the boy his per diem.
Reader, pay.

Taces dissimulasque? Vale.

Do you keep silent and dissimulate? Farewell.