In branch of myrtle will I bear the sword,
As did Harmodius of old,
Who, with his brother bold,
When votive cups at Pallas’ shrine were poured,
Destroyed Hipparchus, Athens’ tyrant-lord.
Thy glory on the earth shall never fade,
Dearest Harmodius, with thy brother brave,
Because the tyrant in the dust ye laid,
And did the equal laws of Athens save.
What have we next? Pollianus. And who was Pollianus? I know not. It is certain he has left us a very pretty epigram, which I have thus endeavored to render in Latin and English. Hem tibi!
To a miserly Usurer.
Multa tenes, et nulla tenes. Quare? Omnia locas.
Sic te inopem reddis, debitor ut teneat.
Though rich, yet poor. How thus? Your all you lend,
And rob yourself of what your debtors spend.
Here follows another, and, once for all, if any proud critic, in his wisdom, or pretty girl, in her ignorance, object to my translating, now and then, into bald Latin as well as plain English, let them know that I am a bit of a pedant. Some of it needs a Latin guise, to cover its roughness. The critic may deride, si placet, and the lady skip, if she like.
Epigram.—By Julianus Egyptius, whose poverty secured him against robbers.
Aedibus ex aliis, fures, vos quaerite lucrum.
His foribus custos pauperies mea erit.
Expect not here, ye thieves, your lust to sate,
For need, strong portress, watcheth at the gate.