Not sole of starvelings now, but wretches whoWere, are, or shall be in the years to come,My love, my dearling, fain art thou to strum.Nor privately; for nigh thou com'st and jestestAnd to his side close-sticking all things questest.'Tis vain: while lay'st thou snares for me the worst,By . . . . I will teach thee first.An food-full thus do thou, my peace I'd keep:But what (ah me ! ah me !) compels me weepAre thirst and famine to my dearling fated.Cease thou so doing while as modest rated,Lest to thy will thou win—but . . . .
To VARUS ABUSING SUFFENUSVarus, yon wight Suffenus known to theeFairly for wit, free talk, urbanity,The same who scribbles verse in amplest store—Methinks he fathers thousands ten or moreIndited not as wont on palimpsest,But paper-royal, brand-new boards, and bestFresh bosses, crimson ribbands, sheets with leadRuled, and with pumice-powder all well polished.These as thou readest, seem that fine, urbaneSuffenus, goat-herd mere, or ditcher-swainOnce more, such horrid change is there, so vile.What must we wot thereof? a Droll erst while,Or (if aught) cleverer, he with converse meets,He now in dullness, dullest villain beatsForthright on handling verse, nor is the wight Ever so happy as when verse he write:So self admires he with so full delight.In sooth, we all thus err, nor man there beBut in some matter a Suffenus seeThou canst: his lache allotted none shall lack Yet spy we nothing of our back-borne pack.
TO FURIUS SATIRICALLY PRAISING HIS POVERTYFurius ! Nor chest, nor slaves can claim,Bug, Spider, nor e'e n hearth aflame,Yet thine a sire and step-dame whoWi' tooth can ever flint-food chew!So thou, and pleasant happy lifeLead wi' thy parents wooden wife.Nor be this marvel: hale are all,Well ye digest; no fears appalFor household-arsons, heavy ruin,Plunderings impious, poison-brewin'Or other parlous case forlorn.Your frames are hard and dried like horn,Or if more arid aught ye knowBy suns and frosts and hunger-throe.Then why not happy as thou'rt hale?Sweat's strange to thee, spit fails, and failPhlegm and foul snivel from the nose.Add cleanness that aye cleanlier showsA bum than salt-pot cleanlier,Nor ten times cack'st in total year,And harder 'tis than pebble or beanWhich rubbed in hand or crumbled, e'enOn finger ne'er shall make unclean.Such blessings (Furius !) such a prizeNever belittle nor despise;Hundred sesterces seek no moreWith wonted prayer—enow's thy store!
TO JUVENTIUS CONCERNING THE CHOICE OF A FRIENDO of Juventian youths the flowret fairNot of these only, but of all that wereOr shall be, coming in the coming years,Better waste Midas' wealth (to me appears)On him that owns nor slave nor money-chestThan thou shouldst suffer by his love possest."What! is he vile or not fair?" "Yes!" I attest, "Yet owns this man so comely neither slaves nor chest My words disdain thou or accept at bestYet neither slave he owns nor money-chest."
ADDRESS TO THALLUS THE NAPERY-THIEFThou bardache Thallus! more than Coney's robeSoft, or goose-marrow or ear's lowmost lobe,Or Age's languid yard and cobweb'd part,Same Thallus greedier than the gale thou art,When the Kite-goddess shows thee Gulls agape,Return my muffler thou hast dared to rape,Saetaban napkins, tablets of Thynos, all