LITMIR.BIZ

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scrutinize the others like Hypsaea so you're blind to any imperfections you should find. “Oh what a leg! What arms!”

      Your blather flows

      while viewing shapeless hips, a pointed nose,130

      no waist to speak of, and enormous feet.

      With someone's wife, your view is incomplete

      except that you can see her face; unless

      she is Catia, her long, flowing dress

      will hide the rest. But if you go pursue135

      forbidden joys—as crazy people do—

      a host of obstacles will block your way:

      attendants, vehicles, beauticians, stray

      “consultants,” floor-length gowns, a shawl that flatters—

      a thousand things that blind you to what matters.140

      The other way to go is free and clear;

      in Coan silk her torso may appear

      as if it's naked, so a gimpy leg

      or ugly foot are features you can peg.

      Why lose your money and deceive yourself145

      when merchandise is not yet on the shelf?

      The playboy sings,

      “The hunter tracks down hares /

      through blinding snow, / but he no longer cares /

      once they're brought low,”

      and then analogizes:

      “My passion is quite similar; it rises150

      above the easy prey to chase the birds

      in flight.”

      Could you conceive that any words

      of poetry would ever help to free

      your heart of longing, angst, or agony?

      And wouldn't it be better to inquire155

      as to nature's limits on desire—

      both joys that it allows itself to feel

      and aches from want—so you can tell the real

      from ether? When your throat is burning up,

      would you drink only from a gilded cup?160

      When you are famished, is your only wish

      to taste the most exotic fowl or fish?

      When your groin's throbbing, and you have in hand

      some servant boy or girl at your command,

      and you can feel it's time to make your thrust,165

      would you prefer to burst from pent-up lust?

      Not me! I like a lover who combines

      low standards and convenience. If she whines,

      “A little later,” “Buy me something more,”

      or “Maybe when my husband's out the door,”170

      as Philodemus says, then she is fit

      or eunuch priests since his prerequisite

      is she not cost a lot and never stall

      whenever she is called. She should be tall

      and fair, yet never try to look endowed175

      with greater gifts than nature has allowed.

      When lying on our sides, she looks to me

      like Ilia, or maybe she could be

      Egeria—since any name will do.

      I never have misgivings when we screw180

      for fear her husband's coming back to town

      from business in the boonies to break down

      the door as mongrels yap, the building shakes

      with yelling, knocks, and clatter, and she wakes

      up pale as death and scurries off. The maid,185

      her co-conspirator, then grows afraid

      of being beaten and begins her screaming;

      her guilty mistress worries he'll be scheming

      to steal the dowry while I save my hide.

      Barefoot and nearly naked, I decide190

      I should escape; I'm dreading litigation,

      a pummeling or loss of reputation.

      Whenever someone's nailed, his fate is cruel

      (even if Fabius can bend a rule).

       Satire 3

      All singers share this fault: among their friends

      they won't perform, but music never ends

      when everybody thinks it should be through.

      Sardinia's Tigellius would do

      that sort of thing. If Caesar, who could sway5

      a man with force, had asked for him to play

      while pleading friendship and their fathers' bond,

       he would have failed to make the man respond.

      He'd belt out “Io Bacche” just for fun

      from egg hors d'oeuvres until the fruit was done—10

      first in falsetto, then he would descend

      to measures at the lyre's lowest end.

      He vacillated. Often he would flee

      as if escaping from the enemy;

      more often he would creep along so slowly15

      it appeared that he was bearing holy

      offerings for Juno. He was prone

      to keep two hundred slaves, but then might own

      as few as ten. He would give grand accounts

      of kings and tetrarchs, then he would announce,20

      “A table with three legs, an oyster shell

      that's filled with spotless salt, and, to repel

      the icy cold, a toga (though it may be coarse) are all I ask for.”

      So let's say

      you gave this fellow who embodied thrift25

      a million in sesterces as a gift.

      Although he was “content” with simple ways,

      his pockets would be empty in five days.

      Throughout the night he would remain awake,

      then snore throughout the day without a break.30

      There never was a person so askew!

      Somebody may now ask, “How about you?

      Have you no faults?” Indeed, but not the same,

      and maybe ones that are a bit more tame.

      When Maenius decided to attack35

      the name of Novius behind his back,

      somebody interrupted him with,

      “Hey! Do you not know yourself, or do you say you do not notice due to all your lies?” “I'm no self-critic,” Maenius replies.40

      It's silly and obscene, this egotism,

      and it deserves your public criticism.

      For your own shortcomings, your eyes will burn,

      then blur when smeared with balm. Why do they turn

      as clear as any eagle's or a snake45

      of Epidaurus when it's time to take

      a look at

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