10. To Paulus

Though your laurel-wreathed axes announce the new year
At a thousand levees every morn you appear.
What to us do you leave? What in Rome can I do,
Who am one of the people, the poor vulgar crew?
Shall I hail him as ‘lord’ who scarce gives me a glance?
The greeting you give your proud honours enhance.
Shall I follow his chair? You to bear it desire
And strive to go first through the thick of the mire.
Shall I rise to applaud him? That chance you ne'er miss
And are standing already to throw him a kiss.
What shall poor fellows do whom no patron will own?
Your consular purple has ousted our gown.
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Martial
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