Translation copyright © 2003 John Svarlien; all rights reserved.
Exotic dancers, patent-medicine men,
Panhandlers, starlets, stand-up comics – this
Whole crowd is dressed in black and all choked up.
Tigellius the pop artiste is dead.
He lavished gifts on everyone. Now look
Across the street. Another man would balk
At chipping in to help a needy friend
Pay the rent or get a meal. He's worried
People think him prodigal. Ask another
How come he's gobbled up the wealth his dad
And granddad slowly saved and, deep in debt,
Still spends to have the finest caviar.
"Let no one say I'm stingy," he replies.
For this, he's praised by some; by others blamed.
Now take Fufidius. The man is rich
In real estate and banking. Still he fears
He'll get the name of ne'er-do-well or worse,
And so he charges five times normal rates
Of interest and takes the first installment off
The principal. The more you need the cash,
The more he hassles you to ante up.
He's made a mint in I.O.U.'s from boys
Who've just put on the toga virilis
But can't stretch far enough the lean allowance
A hard-boiled father gives. "Dear lord," you think,
"This fellow's earned enough! He must enjoy
His wealth." That's where you're wrong. The poor man
Picks at his feast and tortures himself more
Cruelly than that masochistic father
Who ostracized his son in Terence's play.
You may be asking now, "Just where is all
This leading?" Ponder how your average fool
Attempts avoiding one offense by doing
The opposite. Maltinus goes out dressed
In baggy clothes. Another dandy hikes
His tunic halfway up his ass. Rufillus
Smells of peppermint; Gargonius of goat.
There is no middle course. Some men can't stand
To touch a woman if her ankles show;
Others only get it up in stinking
Bordellos. "Bravo," god-like Cato said
To one he knew just leaving such a place.
"Your virtue shows the way for others when
The nasty passion swells their youthful veins:
Better shove it here than in a housewife."
Cupiennius disdains the praise of prudes.
He likes his piece of ass all flounced in white.
O Romans – you who wish disaster on
Adulterers – lend me your ears. Consider
How they toil and suffer lust, their pleasure
Laced with pain and rarely snatched from peril.
They jump from roofs. They're flogged to death. They run
Into dark alleys full of savage gangs.
They pay to save their lives. The master's slaves
Tie them down and piss on them. Sometimes
A knife lops off a guilty cock and balls.
"That's legal," people say, but Galba cavils.
There's safer sex at bargain rates – I'm talking
About ex-slaves – the sort Sallustius
Adores as madly as adulterers
Adore some fellow's wife. Now he could pay
A reasonable price for sex, in keeping with
His means, and still be thought quite generous,
Fair and good. He needn't let libido
Disgrace and bankrupt him. But no, the man
Is full of self-congratulations, preens
And smugly counts himself a paragon
Of rectitude: "I never touch matronae."
So too Marsaeus, famous once for being
Origo's paramour. The starlet took
Him for the family house and farm. The poor
Gallant was proud: "I'd never mess around
With married women." But you mess around
With actresses and prostitutes and so
Have harmed your reputation even more than
Your pocketbook. Or do you think it quite
Enough to shun the name "adulterer"
But not the sexual drive that messes up
So many lives? To wreck a reputation,
To squander one's inheritance is wrong
In every case. Why bicker over whether
It's prostitutes or Roman wives at issue?
You make the same mistake no matter which.
Consider Villius, the 'son-in-law
Of Sulla'. Fausta's name aroused the man.
But how he paid for that affair! Attacked
By fist and sword, the door slammed in his face,
While Longerenus had her in the house.
Suppose the fellow's Dick piped up, "What's wrong
With you? I'm hard but not unreasonable.
I only ask for cunt. I'm not concerned
About the owner's social class." What would
He answer Dick? "The girl's aristocratic!"
The man's an utter fool who flunks the test
That nature, generous and kind, has coached
Her class to pass. Her lesson: don't desire
Avoidable disasters. Troubles come,
But some you make. For these there's no excuse.
Avoid the sort of sex that you'll regret.
I mean illicit sex. The thrill's not worth
The pain. In spite of what Cerinthus says,
Green emeralds and snowy pearls can't turn
A lady's thigh voluptuous nor add
Some sexy inches to her legs. In fact
A prostitute can be a better bet.
For she parades her wares without deceit.
What you see is what you get. She isn't
Vain enough to cover up a blemish
By flaunting every charm her beauty keeps.
Rich people, when they bid on thoroughbreds,
Never view the horse uncovered. Velvet
Flanks, a stately head and noble neck can
Deceive a gaping buyer. Underneath
That lovely show, a tender coronet
Might pass unnoticed. Caution here is wisdom.
It's ill advised to map a girl's attractive
Features with the eagle eye of Lynceus
And then be blinder than Hypsaea when
It comes to seeing things that mar her looks.
"What lovely legs! What arms!" But don't omit
To note the runty ass, enormous nose,
Truncated waist, and those prodigious feet.
A matron's face is all you see; the rest
Demurely hid, unless she's Catia.
But if you crave forbidden sex, the sort
Surrounded by defensive walls – the challenge
Drives you crazy – many obstacles will
Impede your progress: body-guards, the lady's
Litter, her beauticians and other servants;
So many things will block your view of her.
The other route is clear and unobstructed.
Diaphanous chemise of Coan silk
Can't hide uncomely legs or ugly feet.
Your eye can measure her from top to bottom.
But maybe you enjoy the part of patsy,
The sap who buys before inspecting goods.
You quote Callimachus: "The huntsman tracks
A hare through drifts of snow, but doesn't want
To touch it once it's caught." And then you add,
"Just so my passion loves the chase and never
Takes the easy course." You hope a clever
Epigram will somehow cool erotic
Heat, or help you staunch the wound and worry
Desire has dealt your heart? Would not it serve
You better if you asked philosophers
What limit nature sets for passion, what
Your nature needs and what, if lost, would cost
You dear, and thus distinguish void from solid?
When thirsty, do you need a golden goblet?
When starved, a turbot grilled or roasted peacock?
When your pecker's stiff, why torture it?
A servant girl is there to serve, and house boys
Will serve as well. I'm not fastidious.
I love an easy Venus, one who comes
At call. A woman stringing you along
With "Wait a little" or "I'd like another
Gift" or "Only when my husband's out" is,
As Philodemus writes, fit only for
The Galli. All he asks is that a woman
Not cost a lot nor make you wait whenever
You order sex. She ought to be good looking
And glamorous but not made up so much
You think she's better than she really is.
When such a woman slips her body under
Mine, she's Ilia or Egeria;
I give the tart whatever name I like.
While fucking her I needn't fear a husband
Suddenly returning from his stables,
A barking dog, the door torn off it hinges,
The house in wild uproar, the woman pale
With panic jumping out of bed, her maid
Shrieking bloody murder, everyone in
Terror: one of being whipped, the other
Of losing dowry, I of losing life.
Barefoot, tunic half on, off I scramble
To save my ass, my cash and reputation.
Getting caught is really bad. I'd wager
That even Fabius would second that.
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