Starving company, troop of hungry Piso,
Light of luggage, of outfit expeditious,
You, Veranius, you, my own Fabullus,
Say, what fortune? enough of empty masters,
5 Frost and famine, a lingering probation?
Stands your diary fair? is any profit
Enter'd given? as I to serve a praetor
Count each beggarly gift a timely profit.
Trust me, Memmius, you did aptly finger
10 My passivity, fool'd me most supinely.
Friends, confess it; in e'en as hard a fortune
You stand mulcted, on you a like abashless
Rake rides heavily. Court the great who wills it!
Gods and goddesses evil heap upon ye,
15 Rogues to Romulus and to Remus outcast.
XXIX.
Can any brook to see it, any tamely bear—
If any, gamester, epicure, a wanton, he—
Mamurra's own whatever all the curly Gauls
Did else inherit, or the lonely Briton isle?
5 Can you look on, look idly, filthy Romulus?
Shall he, in o'er-assumption, o'er-repletion he,
Sedately saunter every dainty couch along,
A bright Adonis, as the snowy dove serene?
Can you look on, look idly, filthy Romulus?
10 Look idly, gamester, epicure, a wanton, you.
Unique commander, and was only this the plea
Detain'd you in that islet angle of the west,
To gorge the shrunk seducer irreclaimable
With haply twice a million, add a million yet?
15 What else was e'er unhealthy prodigality?