Martial
Selected Epigrams
De Spectaculis:6 On display
Pasiphae really was mated to that Cretan bull:
believe it: we’ve seen it, the old story’s true.
old antiquity needn’t pride itself so, Caesar:
whatever legend sings, the arena offers you.
Book I:77 Charinus, exhausted
He’s quite well, Charinus, still he’s pale.
Hardly drinks, Charinus, still he’s pale.
A fine digestion too, Charinus, still he’s pale.
He takes the sun, Charinus, still he’s pale.
He dyes his skin, Charinus, still he’s pale.
Eats pussy, yet, Charinus, still he’s pale.
Book II:38 A fine view
You ask what I see in my farm near Nomentum, Linus?
What I see in it, Linus, is: from there I can’t see you.
Book II:87 Amazing
You say pretty girls burn with love for you, Sextus,
with your face too, like a man swimming underwater.
Book III:26 Possession
Only you have land, then, Candidus,
Gold plate, cash, and porcelain, only you,
Massic or Caecuban wine of famous vintage,
only you judgement and wit, only you.
You have it all – well say I don’t deny it –
But everyone has your wife, along with you.
Book III:53 Sorry Chloe (you’re dumped)
Chloe, I could live without your face,
without your neck, and hands, and legs
without your breasts, and ass, and hips,
and Chloe, not to labour over details,
I could live without the whole of you.
Book V:58 Carpe diem
Postumus, tomorrow you’ll live, tomorrow you say.
When is it coming, tell me, that tomorrow?
How far off, and where, and how will you find it?
In Armenia, or Parthia, is it concealed then?
Your tomorrow’s as old as Nestor or Priam.
How much would it cost you, tell me, to buy?
Tomorrow? It’s already too late to live today:
He who lived yesterday, Postumus, he is wise.
Book V:81 It’s a law
Aemilianus, you’ll always be poor if you’re poor.
These days they only give wealth to the rich.
Book VII:14 True loss
Aulus, atrocious tragedy’s struck my girl;
she’s lost her plaything and her fond delight:
not such as Catullus’ tender mistress wept for
his Lesbia, bereft of worthless sparrow,
nor, sung by Stella, his Ianthis grieves for,
whose black dove wings it through Elysium:
She’s not won by such loves, such nonsense,
mea lux: they don’t stir my lady’s heart:
she’s lost a slave boy hardly twelve years old,
his member not yet eighteen inches long.
Book XIV: Us pipes
The tipsy flute-girl blows us with moistened cheeks:
sometimes she blows just one, often both together.
Selected Epigrams
De Spectaculis:6 On display
Pasiphae really was mated to that Cretan bull:
believe it: we’ve seen it, the old story’s true.
old antiquity needn’t pride itself so, Caesar:
whatever legend sings, the arena offers you.
Book I:77 Charinus, exhausted
He’s quite well, Charinus, still he’s pale.
Hardly drinks, Charinus, still he’s pale.
A fine digestion too, Charinus, still he’s pale.
He takes the sun, Charinus, still he’s pale.
He dyes his skin, Charinus, still he’s pale.
Eats pussy, yet, Charinus, still he’s pale.
Book II:38 A fine view
You ask what I see in my farm near Nomentum, Linus?
What I see in it, Linus, is: from there I can’t see you.
Book II:87 Amazing
You say pretty girls burn with love for you, Sextus,
with your face too, like a man swimming underwater.
Book III:26 Possession
Only you have land, then, Candidus,
Gold plate, cash, and porcelain, only you,
Massic or Caecuban wine of famous vintage,
only you judgement and wit, only you.
You have it all – well say I don’t deny it –
But everyone has your wife, along with you.
Book III:53 Sorry Chloe (you’re dumped)
Chloe, I could live without your face,
without your neck, and hands, and legs
without your breasts, and ass, and hips,
and Chloe, not to labour over details,
I could live without the whole of you.
Book V:58 Carpe diem
Postumus, tomorrow you’ll live, tomorrow you say.
When is it coming, tell me, that tomorrow?
How far off, and where, and how will you find it?
In Armenia, or Parthia, is it concealed then?
Your tomorrow’s as old as Nestor or Priam.
How much would it cost you, tell me, to buy?
Tomorrow? It’s already too late to live today:
He who lived yesterday, Postumus, he is wise.
Book V:81 It’s a law
Aemilianus, you’ll always be poor if you’re poor.
These days they only give wealth to the rich.
Book VII:14 True loss
Aulus, atrocious tragedy’s struck my girl;
she’s lost her plaything and her fond delight:
not such as Catullus’ tender mistress wept for
his Lesbia, bereft of worthless sparrow,
nor, sung by Stella, his Ianthis grieves for,
whose black dove wings it through Elysium:
She’s not won by such loves, such nonsense,
mea lux: they don’t stir my lady’s heart:
she’s lost a slave boy hardly twelve years old,
his member not yet eighteen inches long.
Book XIV: Us pipes
The tipsy flute-girl blows us with moistened cheeks:
sometimes she blows just one, often both together.
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