Ex otio Negotium :: :: University of Virginia Library

Most Mighty Cæsar, King of kings, to whom
Rome owes so many tryumphs yet to come,
So many Temples growing and restored,
So many Spectacles, gods, Cities: Lord
She yet in debt to thee doth more remain,
That she by thee is once made chast again.

De Thelesina, Epig. 7.

(Faustinus) from the hour the Julian Law
Revived, and chastity began to draw
By publique Edict into every House,
Scarce thirty days have pass'd,
Since Thelesine was askd,
And ten times over hath bin made a Spouse.
She that doth wed so oft, weds not at all:
But rather her we may more truly call
A meer legitimate Adulteresse:
A simple arrant wench offends me lesse

De Fabulla, Epig. 12.

Fabulla sweares
Those new bought hairs
Paulus now by her worne,
Are all her own,
Most truly shown;
Prethee is she forsworn?
If thou deny,
So cannot I.

Ad Priscum de Salonino, Epig. 18.

Salonine lyes interr'd in Spanish ground,
A sweeter shade nere pass'd the Stygian sound.
But it's a sin
To mourn for him.
For since (my Priscus) thou surviving art,
He lives yet in his more beloved part.

Ad Posthumum Causidicum, Epig. 19.

No action of battery,
Of murder, or of poyson, I
Pursue: but of three Kids bereft
I doe accuse my Neighbour's theft.
The Judge requires how I it know:
Thou tell'st th'Apulian overthrow,
The Pontick war, and perjury
Of Hannibal's rash cruelty,
Scylla and Marius, Mutius wrath,
With open mouth, and spead armes both.

Now Posthumus I prethee tell
At last where I my Kids may smell.

In Proculinam, Epig. 22.

Because thou joynst (my Proculine)
In Marriage with thy Concubine,
One that most palpably before
Did only love thee as a Whore,
Least that the Law thee should distresse,
Thou dost not Marry but confesse.

In Lesbiam, Epig. 23.

Lesbia thou seemst my Thomas to command,
As 'twere a finger at thy will to stand:
Which though thou temp'st with flatt'ring hands and voice,
Thy crosse grain'd face still countermands thy choice.

Epitaphium Glauciæ, Epig. 28.

The free born Boy of Melior
Which being dead, whole Rome mournd for,
His dearest Patron's short delight,
(Glaucias) interr'd in endlesse night
Under this marble Tombe doth ly,
The great Flaminian road hard by,
Of modest life, and purely chast
Accutely witty, and sweet faced,
Just twice six Harvests he passd by
Scarcely disroab'd of infancy,

O Traveller that these dost moan
Mayst thou nere weep such of thine own!

De eodem, Epig. 29.

No Slave of a Plebeian House or kind,
But a Lad worthy his Lord's love to finde,
Glaucia my Meliar's manumitted Boy
Scarce capable his gifts yet to enjoy,
This boon with life and form he did partake,
None look'd more lovely, none more sweetly spake.
‘Things too much doted on live short: and such
Thou wouldst love long, let them not please too much.

In Pætum, Epig. 30.

If thou hadst sent mee presentlie
Six sesterties, when first to mee
Thou saydst (my Pætus) take, I give,
Ide ow'd there ten score as I live.
But now to doe't with this delay
When seaven or nine months slipd away,
Wouldst have me tell thee what I think?
Pætus th'hast clearly lost thy chinck.

De Morte Othonis, Epig. 32.

Whiles yet Bellona doubts the warlike doom,
And softer Otho might have overcome,

He stops the costly charge of blood in War,
And by his sword fals his own murderer.
He liv'd a Cato, more than Cæsar too,
Yet dying, how like Otho he did doe?

Ad Diadumenum, Epig. 34.

Seale me squeez'd kisses (Diadumene)
How many? count the Billows of the Sea,
Or spread Cockles on th'Ægæan shore,
Or wandring Bees in the Cecropian store,
Or th'hands and voices in the Theatre
When Rome salutes her suddain Emperor:
I slight how many courted Lesbia gave
Catullus: he that numbers, few would have.

In Carinum, Epig. 37.

Medall so fine,
Short breech'd (Carine)
No vain superfluous reliques hast,
Yet itchest from the head to th'wast!
O wretch what pain
Dost thou sustain?
I'have no place for't,
Yet love the sport?

In Lygdum & Lectoriam, Epig. 45.

Y'have playd, enough, lascivious cronies wed,
No lust is lawfull but in marriage bed,
Is this love chast? Lygdus and Lectore joyn?
Shee'le prove a worse wife, than a Concubine.

In Pomponiam, Epig. 48.

Cause the long robe applaudes thine eloquence,
Tis not thy self, thy supper strikes the sence.

De Thelesino, Epig. 50

Whiles Thelesine embraced his chast friends stil.
His gown was short and thred-bare, cold and mean,
But since he serv'd foul Gamesters and obscæne
Now he buyes Fields, Plate, Tables at his will.
Wouldst thou grow rich Bithinicus? live vain:
Pure kisses will yield none, or little gain.

Ad Luperlum, Epig. 51.

Cause thou dost feast so often without mee
Luperlus, I have found a plague for thee.
Though thou dost importune, and send, and call,
I'le shew a seeming anger over all.
And when thou sayst, what wilt thou? doe in summ
What will I doe? I am resolv'd to come.

Epitaphium Pantagathi, Epig. 52.

Here lyes interrd cropt in his youthful years
Pantagathus, his Masters joy, and tears.

Learnd with a flying touch to trim loose hairs.
And shave the brisly cheek that roughly stares,
O earth lye pleasing! and light on him stand,
Thou canst not be more light then was his hand.

In Phœbum, Epig. 57.

Phœbus belyes with Oyle his fained haires,
And ore his scalp a painted border wears:
Thou needst no Barber to corect thy pate,
Phœbus a spung would better doe the feat.

In Invidum, Epig. 61.

Rome praises, loves, and sings my merry leaves,
Me every bosom, every hand receives.
One blushes, one growes pale, and one disdains,
One stands amazd, one hates me for my pains:
This was my great desire, my wishd increas,
Now now my verses, now my verses please.

Ad Marianum, Epig. 63.

Thou knowst thy self entrapd, and art aware
How coveteous he was that layd the snare.
And (Marian) needs must know his second care;
Yet notwithstanding dost make him thine heir,
And headily wouldst have him to succeed
Thee in thy goods and lands by thy last Deed.

Tis true he sent rich gifts, but layd in wire,
And can the Fish their murderer desire?
Or will he (Marian) truly weep for thee?
To have true tears, reverse thy Legacie.

De præcone Puellam vendente, Epig. 66.

Gællian the Cryer brought a Lass
To market, of smale fame to pass,
Such as in Baudy-houses sate:
Whiles she stood long at a smale rate,
He to approve her sound and good
Drew her near to him as she stood,
And kissd her three or four times ore
But wouldst thou know what fruit these bore?
Why he that bad six hundred pieces for her
Upon this score did utterly abhor her.

Ad Pannieum de Gellia uxore, Epig. 67.

Pannicus dost desire to know
Why thy Gellia keeps I trow
Eunuches only with her still?
Tis thy cunning Gellia's will,
To have the secret active sport,
Yet feel no throws nor anguish for't.

Ad Martianum, Epig. 70.

Cotta has livd full sixty years and more,
And yet (my Martian) never felt the sore
Affliction of a Feaver one short 'bout;
Thence though unchastly holds his finger out

Against Alcontis, Dacus, Symmachus,
But if our years were well computed thus,
And what sharp Feavers have took from us, what
Languishing grief, and sicknesse, we are not
Less then divided from the happier day,
We are but Boys in years and yet seem gray.
He that conceives (my Martian) Priam's age,
Or Nestor's to be long on the worlds stage,
Is much deceived, much out: for I thee tell
To be, is not call'd life, but to be well.

De Cilice Fure, Epig. 72.

Cilix a knave of noted theft,
Resolv'd to rob a Garden by:
But there was nought (Fabullus) left
But a huge Marble-dyetie.
Yet least his empty hand should miss its prey,
Cilix presumed to steal the god away.

Ad Lupum, Epig. 79.

How? Sad and rich? Beware least fortune catch
Thee Lupus, then she'le call thee thanklesse wretch.

In mortem Rufi Camonii Epig. 85.

In th'absence (Rufus) my sixth Booke is out,
But thou her Reader she doth sadly doubt,

Base Capadocia by a fate unjust
Gives to thy friends thy bones, to thee thy dust.
Widdowd Bononia bathe friend in tears,
While that Æmilia thy griefs eccho beares,
How Pious? but how short lived did he fall?
Five bare Olimpiads he had seen in all.
Rufus thou that wast wont to bear in minde
Out sports, and them in memory to finde
Accept this sad verse which I send,
As the sweet incense of thy absent friend.

De Thaide, Epig. 93.

Thais smells as ill as doth a Fullers vate
That long hath steepd, broke in the street of late:
The tyred Goats not more ranck, the breath and breech
Of Lyons, nor stripd Dogs-skins in a ditch;
Nor adle egg that putrifying lyes,
Nor pot of rotten fish that stinking dyes.
That she may change this plague for some sweet scent,
Naked and oft she doth the Baths frequent,
And shines with Oyle, lyes in sharp fennell hid,
Or in bean meale twice or thrice covered.
When safe by thousand slights her self she thinks,
When all's done, Thais still all Thais stinks.