Epigrams

If worms and decay must needs be thy lot, my sheet, begin to perish under my verses first. “Rather,” thou sayest, “the worms.” Wisely, my woeful little book, dost thou choose to endure the lesser evil. But I like not to lose the leisure given to the wasteful Muse, who causes loss of slimmer and lamp-oil too. “It had been better to sleep than to lose both slumber and oil.” Well said: but this is my reason for it. I am angry with Proculus whose eloquenee is equal to his rank. He has written reams, but keeps all close. On him I long to be avenged, and a poet has vengeance ready to hand: let him who publishes not his own verse read mine. For him is it to decide whether to bid thee keep thy youth with cedar oil, or to be food for cruel worms. To him I commit all that I have to show for my inglorious leisure, either to scan what I shall give him or to ban it.