by Martial
Lupercus, whenever you meet me
Lupus, I’m deeply in your debt
Lusistis, satis est: lascivi nubite cunni:
Madam, I’ve warned you many times
Marcia, non Rhenus, salit hic, Germane: quid opstas
Marius doesn’t entertain, or send
Marius’ earhole smells.
Marulla’s hobby is to measure
Matutine cliens, urbis mihi causa relictae
May I present myself—the man
Mensas, Ole, bonas ponis, sed ponis opertas.
Mentiris, credo: recitas mala carmina, laudo:
Mentiris iuvenem tinctis, Laetine, capillis
Miraris docto quod carmina mitto Severo
Miraris veteres, Vacerra, solos
Munera qui tibi dat locupleti, Gaure, senique
Mutua te centum sestertia, Phoebe, rogavi
My friend’s few happy acres vie
My hobbling metre, if it’s not a task
My orchard isn’t the Hesperides,
Ne gravis hesterno fragres, Fescennia, vino
Ne laudet dignos, laudat Callistratus omnes.
Ne legeres partem lascivi, casta, libelli
Nec vocat ad cenam Marius, nec munera mittit
Nihil Ammiano praeter aridam restem
Nil mihi das vivus; dicis post fata daturum.
Non est mentitus qui te mihi dixit habere
Non mea Massylus servat pomaria serpens
Non omnis nostri nocturna est pagina libri:
Not all the epigrams I write
Novius is so close a neighbour, I could stand
Now I’m no longer a paid client-guest
Now that she’s read my epigram—the one
Nubere Paula cupit nobis, ego ducere Paulam
Nullos esse deos, inane caelum
Nullus in urbe fuit tota qui tangere vellet
Numquam me revocas, venias cum saepe vocatus:
Nuper erat medicus, nunc est vispillo Diaulus:
Observing Selius pacing to and fro
Occurris quocumque loco mihi, Postume, clamas
Occurris quotiens, Luperce, nobis
Occurrit tibi nemo quod libenter
Of what does the happy life consist
Ohe, iam satis est, ohe, libelle
Olus sold land to build a pied-à-terre:
Omnia promittis cum tota nocte bibisti;
Omnis aut vetulas habes amicas
On your return from Libya I tried
One day Leda announced to her aged husband, “I’m suffering…
Our dinner invitations are one-sided:
Our friend Faustinus at his Baian place
Parva rogas magnos; sed non dant haec quoque magni.
Pauperis extruxit cellam, sed vendidit Olus
People have the oddest kinks.
Petit Gemellus nuptias Maronillae
Phyllis, when your old claws attempt to strum
Plorat Eros, quotiens maculosae pocula murrae
Pompeios iuvenes Asia atque Europa, sed ipsum
Pomponius, when loud applause
Poor morning client (you remind me
Prima salutantes atque altera conterit hora
Primum est ut praestes, si quid te, Cinna, rogabo;
Profecit poto Mithridates saepe veneno
Promiscuous girls, you’ve had your fun:
Pulchre valet Charinus et tamen pallet.
Qua moechum ratione basiaret
Quae te causa trahit vel quae fiducia Romam
Quaeris cur nolim te ducere, Galla? Diserta es.
Quaero diu totam, Safroni Rufe, per urbem
Quamvis tam longo possis satur esse libello
Quattuor argenti libras mihi tempore brumae
Quem recitas meus est, o Fidentine, libellus:
Quid mihi reddat ager quaeris, Line, Nomentanus?
Quid tibi nobiscum est, ludi scelerate magister
Quid vellis vetulum, Ligeia, cunnum?
Quidam me modo, Rufe, diligenter
Quod alpha dixi, Corde, paenulatorum
Quod convivaris sine me tam saepe, Luperce
Quod fronte Selium nubila vides, Rufe
Quod nimium mortem, Chaeremon Stoice, laudas
Quod nulli calicem tuum propinas
Quod quacumque venis Cosmum migrare putamus
Quod querulum spirat, quod acerbum Naevia tussit
Quod tam grande sophos clamat tibi turba togata
Quod tibi Decembri mense, quo volant mappae
Readers and listeners like my books
Rigidly classical, you save
Romam vade, liber: si, veneris unde, requiret
Rufus, I’ve searched all Rome for a long time
Saepe mihi dicis, Luci carissime Iuli
Saepe rogare soles qualis sim, Prisce, futurus
Safronius, you look so meek and mild
Scis te captari, scis hunc qui captat, avarum
Scripsi, rescripsit nil Naevia, non dabit ergo.
Semper mane mihi de me mera somnia narras
Semper pauper eris, si pauper es, Aemiliane.
Septima iam, Phileros, tibi conditur uxor in agro.
Seu tu Paestanis genita es seu Tiburis arvis
Seven wives you’ve had—all dead
Sexte, nihil debes, nil debes, Sexte, fatemur.
Sextus, you keep on saying
She longs for me to “have and hold” her
She’s half-and-half inclined
Si meus aurita gaudet lagalopece Flaccus
Si non molestum est teque non piget, scazon
Si quid, Fusce, vacas adhuc amari—
Si tecum mihi, care Martialis
Si tristi domicenio laboras
Siccus, sobrius est Aper; quid ad me?
Since, little book, you’re bent on leaving home
Since you’re alike and lead a matching life
Sordida cum tibi sit, verum tamen, Attale, dicit
Supremas tibi triciens in anno
Tanta tibi est animi probitas orisque, Safroni
Ten times a year or more you catch a chill.
That you’re young, beautiful and rich
The epigrammatist’s belief
The first two hours of the morning tax
The four-horse chariot of the Blues
The moment I buy three or four pounds of plate
The only kisses I enjoy
The other day, Rufus, somebody gave
The rich know anger helps the cost of living:
The thrusting shopkeepers had long been poaching
There’s no escaping the kissers, Flaccus.
They’re mine, but while a fool like you recites
Three hundred guests, not one of whom I know—
Three times a month you change your will
To you, my parents, I send on
Toranius, if the prospect of a cheerless, solitary dinner
Triginta mihi quattuorque messes
“Tristis Athenagoras non misit munera nobis
Unguentum, fateor, bonum dedisti
Uxor, vade foras aut moribus utere nostris:
Uxorem quare locupletem ducere nolim
Vapulat adsidue veneti quadriga flagello
Veientana mihi misces, ubi Massica potas:
Venturum iuras semper mihi, Lygde, roganti
Versus et breve vividumque carmen
Vicinus meus est manuque tangi
Vis commendari sine me cursurus in urbem
Vis te, Sexte, coli: volebam amare.
Vitam quae faciant beatiorem
Volt, non volt dare Galla mihi, nec dicere possum,
We all know Galla’s services as a whore
What brings you to the city? What wild scheme
When Ammianus’ father breathed
When Eros goes into a shop
When Paulus has “a sudden chill”
When Selius spreads his nets for an invitation
When you complaisantly allowed
When you say
, “Quick, I’m going to come”
When you were chasing my good will
Whenever I say, “Please come”, you always swear
Whenever, Postumus, you meet me
Whenever you drink all night you make
Whenever you rise from a chair, Lesbia, your wretched clothes…
Whenever you walk past, Gellia, I can’t stop
Whether or not Apollo fled from the table
While you’re, no doubt, anxiously threading
Whoa, little book! Slow up! Easy there! Steady!
Whoever said of you, “She’s all complexion
Why did you cut out your slave’s tongue
Why do you press me to emend
“Why don’t you ever ask a favour?”
Why have I never sent
Why have I no desire to marry riches?
Why poke the ash of a dead fire?
Why won’t I marry you? You’re a blue-stocking
Why, you ask, whenever you show your face
Wood, fields and streams, this latticed shade
You ask great men small favours, yet
You ask me what I get
You claim that lots of pretty women
You drink the best, yet serve us third-rate wine.
You give me nothing now. “Ah, yes”
You know you’re being got at, you’re aware
You rocked my cradle, Charidemus, gave
You say you’re scared I’m going to aim
You tell lies—I lend a credulous ear;
You tell me regularly every morning
You tell me that you’re leaving
Your question: would my character
Your tables may, for all I know
You’re always whispering in one’s ear
You’re an informer and tool of slander
You’ve dyed your hair to mimic youth
You’ve spent your whole life in the provinces
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