46. To Naevolus -

Gay as the flowers that Hybla shows in spring,
What time the bees are plundering on the wing,
So shine your presses with their mantles bright,
So gleams your chest with evening wrappers white,
Spoils of her flocks Apulia sent to you,
Enough to clothe a Roman tribe anew.
And yet — O shame — you look with careless eye
Upon your friend who passes shivering by
In threadbare coat, and do not think to give
A rag or two to keep him just alive.
You would not feel the loss, you need not fear:
The moths alone would be the sufferers here.

43. To Candidus -

The proverb goes — " Let friends together profit."
And this is your interpretation of it.
You sport a toga of Tarentine wool.
Such tufts as from the Parman flocks they pull:
Mine is so old you'd think a bull had torn it,
Or that some scarecrow in the ring had worn it.
Your Tyrian mantle's one of Cadmus own:
My poor red cloak would scarce fetch half-a-crown.
Your marble rounds on Indian ivory rest:
My table's wood and is on drain-pipes pressed.
For you huge mullets lie in golden dish:
I from red earthen plates eat red crawfish.

34. To Galla -

To buy a young minion you've spent all your gold,
And let your three children go hungry and cold,
While you force him on you his male vigour to prove,
Who are long past the age for legitimate love.
May you grow old together, and never another
Embrace you but he, you unnatural mother.

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