by Martial
Sovereign Diana’s Aventine,
Or sweating in a clients’ line
(Soaked toga serving as a fan)
In the anteroom of some great man,
Or slogging up or stumbling down
Both Caelian hills, my own home town
Bilbilis, proud of iron and gold,
Has welcomed back into the fold
Me revenant after many a year
And made me truly rural. Here,
A son of undemanding toil,
I gently farm Boterdum’s soil
(These uncouth Spanish names!) and sleep
Past nine, grossly, shamefully deep,
Thus catching up on the arrears
Of thirty-odd insomniac years.
The toga’s unknown: if I shout
For clothes I’m given the nearest clout
From a broken chair. Once out of bed,
A fire greets me, royally fed
With oak-logs from our local copse,
Which my young bailiff’s wife then tops
With bubbling pots. Enter a boy,
My “huntsman” (one you’d love to enjoy
In a quiet wood, Juvenal). On his heels
The smooth-cheeked bailiff comes and deals
The slaves their rations. Will I let
Him cut the youngsters’ hair and set
Them a man’s work? he wants to know.
This is the life for me; and so,
Easy I live, content I’ll go.
28
Hermogenes steals napkins on the same scale as Massa embezzled money in Spain.
A master of legerdemain!
Keep your eyes on his right hand, pinion his left,
And he’ll still bring off a theft
As marvellously as a stag, by inhaling, swallows a clammy snake
Or the rainbow smuggles the next shower up from the lake.
Last week, when the praetor was about to start a chariot-race with his white flag, before he’d twitched it,
Hermogenes had switched it;
And when Myrino, wounded, appealed for mercy and the crowd waved a unanimous handkerchief,
Four were filched by the same thief.
When apprehensive guests arrive without their own napery,
He takes the table-cloth or, failing that, pelmets, couch-covers, dust-sheets, any old drapery.
Even when the arena’s so hot that spectators swelter,
If Hermogenes turns up they hurriedly roll back the sun-shelter.
When he shows his face at the port,
The nervous sailors haul their canvas short.
When he mingles with the worshippers of Isis,
There’s a panic crisis
Among the bald, linen-clad priests and the drum-beating devotees.
We all know Hermogenes
Never brings a napkin when he’s asked to dine,
But he always takes one home—yours or mine.
30
Aper’s teetotal. So what? I commend
Sobriety in a butler, not a friend.
31
Wood, fields and streams, this latticed shade
Of vine, my conduits and cascade,
My roses which can challenge those
That super-fertile Paestum grows,
My vegetables, frost-immune
And green in January as June,
My private tank where tame eels swim,
My dove-cote just as white and trim
As its own inmates—everything
In the small realm of which I’m king
Was given me by my patroness
And friend, Marcella (whom heaven bless),
When I returned to Spain and home
After thirty-five years in Rome.
If Nausicaa’s father were
To make me the inheritor,
Of all his gardens and his throne,
I could say, “I prefer my own.”
34
If memory serves, we’ve shared together
Thirty-four years, Julius. Weather
Both fair and foul as friends we’ve had,
Yet good times have outnumbered bad.
Indeed, if we were to divide
The days by pebbles—on one side
Black, on the other white—the higher
Heap would be bright. If you desire
To avoid the acid taste of life
And to be proof against the knife
That stabs the heart, follow my plan:
Don’t come too close to any man.
That way your pleasure may be less,
So also will your bitterness.
40
You tell lies—I lend a credulous ear;
You recite bad poems—I raise a loyal cheer;
You sing—I join in; you drink—I drink with you; you fart—I pretend not to hear;
You want to play draughts—I gracefully yield.
There’s only one thing you do without my complicity, and on that subject my lips remain sealed.
For all this I get absolutely nil.
“Ah, but in my will
I’ll remember you,” you say.
I want nothing. Still, roll on, that day.
46
Amiable but unco-operative,
Sweet-natured but a grouse—
Though I can’t live without you, I can live
Without you in the house.
56
Ten times a year or more you catch a chill.
The suffering’s ours, though, for you levy presents
All round in honour of each convalescence.
Think of your friends. Be seriously ill!
61
You say you’re scared I’m going to aim
A lampoon at you, something brief
And lurid, and half proudly claim
You’re a marked man. Wishful belief!
Misapprehended apprehension!
African lions pay attention
To bulls, they don’t hunt butterflies.
Ligurra, since you’ve such a hunger
For public notice, I advise
Hiring some sozzled ballad-monger
In a smoke-blackened dive who scrawls
Graffiti over lavatory walls
With stubs of mouldy chalk or coal.
I wouldn’t touch you with a pole.
68
Poor morning client (you remind me
Of all I loathed and left behind me
In Rome), if you had any nous,
Instead of calling on my house
You’d haunt the mansions of the great.
I’m not some wealthy advocate
Blessed with a sharp, litigious tongue,
I’m just a lazy, far from young
Friend of the Muses who likes ease
And sleep. Great Rome denied me these:
If I can’t find them even in Spain,
I may as well go back again.
73
You tell me that you’re leaving
Me everything in your will.
Since seeing is believing,
I can’t be sure until…
75
A is a runner after girls;
B, grudgingly, behind his curls,
Admits to being a boy; young Z
Has porky buttocks daily fed
With “mast”; Y’s queer, but hates it; X
Could have been born the other sex.
I’d rather put up with these haughty,
Querulous, bloody-minded, naughty
Boys than be married to some bitch
Who makes me miserably rich.
80
Because he hates to praise by name
He praises everybody. Vice
And virtue must look much the same
To one who calls the whole world “nice.”
92
Your question: would my character,
And how, change if I suddenly were
Powerful and ri
ch? Who can foresee
The sort of person he might be?
Supposing, Priscus, you became
A lion, would you be fierce or tame?
93
Labulla has worked out a way to kiss
Her lover in her husband’s presence. This
Is how she does it. First of all she’ll cover
Her pet dwarf with kisses, then her lover
Pounces upon the kiss-beslobbered fool,
Sprays him with further osculatory drool
And hands him back to his smiling mistress. Which
Is the bigger fool—Hubby or Little Titch?
LIBER I
I
Hic est quem legis ille, quem requiris,
toto notus in orbe Martialis
argutis epigrammaton libellis:
cui, lector studiose, quod dedisti
viventi decus atque sentienti,
rari post cineres habent poetae.
III
Argiletanas mavis habitare tabernas,
cum tibi, parve liber, scrinia nostra vacent.
nescis, heu, nescis dominae fastidia Romae:
crede mihi, nimium Martia turba sapit.
maiores nusquam rhonchi: iuvenesque senesque
et pueri nasum rhinocerotis habent.
audieris cum grande sophos, dum basia iactas,
ibis ab excusso missus in astra sago.
sed tu ne totiens domini patiare lituras
neve notet lusus tristis harundo tuos,
aetherias, lascive, cupis volitare per auras:
i, fuge; sed poteras tutior esse domi.
IV
Contigeris nostros, Caesar, si forte libellos,
terrarum dominum pone supercilium.
consuevere iocos vestri quoque ferre triumphi,
materiam dictis nec pudet esse ducem.
qua Thymelen spectas derisoremque Latinum,
illa fronte precor carmina nostra legas.
innocuos censura potest permittere lusus:
lasciva est nobis pagina, vita proba.
X
Petit Gemellus nuptias Maronillae
et cupit et instat et precatur et donat.
Adeone pulchra est? Immo foedius nil est.
Quid ergo in illa petitur et placet? Tussit.
XXVII
Hesterna tibi nocte dixeramus,
quincunces puto post decem peractos,
cenares hodie, Procille, mecum.
tu factam tibi rem statim putasti
et non sobria verba subnotasti
exemplo nimium periculoso:
μισ μνμoνα σνμπταν, Procille.
XXXIV
Incustoditis et apertis, Lesbia, semper
liminibus peccas nec tua furta tegis,
et plus spectator quam te delectat adulter
nec sunt grata tibi gaudia si qua latent.
at meretrix abigit testem veloque seraque
raraque Submemmi fornice rima patet.
a Chione saltem vel ab Iade disce pudorem:
abscondunt spurcas et monumenta lupas.
numquid dura tibi nimium censura videtur?
deprendi veto te, Lesbia, non futui.
XXXVIII
Quem recitas meus est, o Fidentine, libellus:
sed male cum recitas, incipit esse tuus.
XLVI
Cum dicis “Propero, fac si facis,” Hedyle, languet
protinus et cessat debilitata Venus.
expectare iube: velocius ibo retentus.
Hedyle, si properas, dic mihi, ne properem.
XLVII
Nuper erat medicus, nunc est vispillo Diaulus:
quod vispillo facit, fecerat et medicus.
LIV
Si quid, Fusce, vacas adhuc amari—
nam sunt hinc tibi, sunt et hinc amici—
unum, si superest, locum rogamus,
nec me, quod tibi sim novus, recuses:
omnes hoc veteres tui fuerunt.
tu tantum inspice qui novus paratur
an possit fieri vetus sodalis.
LXIV
Bella es, novimus, et puella, verum est,
et dives, quis enim potest negare?
sed cum te nimium, Fabulla, laudas,
nec dives neque bella nec puella es.
LXXIII
Nullus in urbe fuit tota qui tangere vellet
uxorem gratis, Caeciliane, tuam,
dum licuit: sed nunc positis custodibus ingens
turba fututorum est: ingeniosus homo es.
LXXVII
Pulchre valet Charinus et tamen pallet.
parce bibit Charinus et tamen pallet.
bene concoquit Charinus et tamen pallet.
sole utitur Charinus et tamen pallet.
tingit cutem Charinus et tamen pallet.
cunnum Charinus lingit et tamen pallet.
LXXXVI
Vicinus meus est manuque tangi
de nostris Novius potest fenestris.
quis non invideat mihi putetque
horis omnibus esse me beatum,
iuncto cui liceat frui sodale?
Tam longe est mihi quam Terentianus,
qui nunc Niliacam regit Syenen.
non convivere, nec videre saltem,
non audire licet, nec urbe tota
quisquam est tam prope tam proculque nobis.
Migrandum est mihi longius vel illi.
vicinus Novio vel inquilinus
sit, si quis Novium videre non volt.
LXXXVII
Ne gravis hesterno fragres, Fescennia, vino,
pastillos Cosmi luxuriosa voras.
ista linunt dentes iantacula, sed nihil opstant,
extremo ructus cum redit a barathro.
quid quod olet gravius mixtum diapasmate virus
atque duplex animae longius exit odor?
notas ergo nimis fraudes deprensaque furta
iam tollas et sis ebria simpliciter.
LXXXIX
Garris in aurem semper omnibus, Cinna,
garrire et illud teste quod licet turba.
rides in aurem, quereris, arguis, ploras,
cantas in aurem, iudicas, taces, clamas,
adeoque penitus sedit hic tibi morbus,
ut saepe in aurem, Cinna, Caesarem laudes.
XCVI
Si non molestum est teque non piget, scazon,
nostro rogamus pauca verba Materno
dicas in aurem sic ut audiat solus.
Amator ille tristium lacernarum
et baeticatus atque leucophaeatus,
qui coccinatos non putat viros esse
amethystinasque mulierum vocat vestes,
nativa laudet, habeat et licet semper
fuscos colores, galbinos habet mores.
Rogabit unde suspicer virum mollem.
Una lavamur: aspicit nihil sursum,
sed spectat oculis devorantibus draucos
nec otiosis mentulas videt labris.
Quaeris quis hic sit? Excidit mihi nomen.
CVII
Saepe mihi dicis, Luci carissime Iuli,
“Scribe aliquid magnum: desidiosus homo es.”
Otia da nobis, sed qualia fecerat olim
Maecenas Flacco Vergilioque suo:
condere victuras temptem per saecula curas
et nomen flammis eripuisse meum.
in steriles nolunt campos iuga ferre iuvenci:
pingue solum lassat, sed iuvat ipse labor.
CIX
Issa est passere nequior Catulli,
Issa est purior osculo columbae,
Issa est blandior omnibus puellis,
Issa est carior Indicis lapillis,
Issa est deliciae c
atella Publi.
hanc tu, si queritur, loqui putabis;
sentit tristitiamque gaudiumque.
collo nixa cubat capitque somnos,
ut suspiria nulla sentiantur;
et desiderio coacta ventris
gutta pallia non fefellit ulla,
sed blando pede suscitat toroque
deponi monet et rogat levari.
castae tantus inest pudor catellae,
ignorat Venerem; nec invenimus
dignum tam tenera virum puella.
Hanc ne lux rapiat suprema totam,
picta Publius exprimit tabella,
in qua tam similem videbis Issam,
ut sit tam similis sibi nec ipsa.
Issam denique pone cum tabella:
aut utramque putabis esse veram,
aut utramque putabis esse pictam.
CXVII
Occurris quotiens, Luperce, nobis,
“Vis mittam puerum” subinde dicis,
“cui tradas epigrammaton libellum,
lectum quem tibi protinus remittam?”
Non est quod puerum, Luperce, vexes.
longum est, si velit ad Pirum venire,
et scalis habito tribus sed altis.
quod quaeris propius petas licebit.
Argi nempe soles subire Letum:
contra Caesaris est forum taberna
scriptis postibus hinc et inde totis,
omnis ut cito perlegas poetas.
illinc me pete. Nec roges Atrectum—
hoc nomen dominus gerit tabernae—:
