You pretend for your kisses the girls are athirst,
With your cheeks, like a diver's, just ready to burst.

A WICKER flask with water iced inside
I send you as my gift this Christmas-tide.
You'll say perhaps it does not suit the season.
I want a summer suit: that is the reason.

M OLLIS erat facilisque uiris Poeantius heros:
Uolnera sic Paridis dicitur ulta Venus.
Cur lingat cunnum Siculus Sertorius, hoc est:
Ab hoc occisus, Rufe, uidetur Eryx.

You have robbed the young gallant of nostrils and ears,
And his face now of both is bereft.
But your vengeance remains incomplete it appears;
He has still got another part left.

Why maim your slave by cutting out
The wretch's tongue, you brute,
When all the city talks about
Your crimes — though he is mute?

Though in a gorgeous litter you may ride,
It seems a pauper's bier when you're inside.

While Fannius the foeman fled,
He madly pierced his side,
And, lest he should be stricken dead,
By his own hand he died.

You only asked me when you know
I've asked another man to dine.
And, as to-day I eat at home,
Your invitation I decline.

Your fish won't keep in Summer-time? Why not?
You can't have tried the baths that you call hot.

Your share of Marius' estate
Is just four pounds of battered plate.
You thought you'd cornered him: l' feg,
The boot is on the other leg.