Marcus Valerius Martial

Glory paid to our ashes comes too late.
[Lat., Cineri gloria sera est.]

Glory paid to our ashes comes too late.
[Lat., Cineri gloria sera est.]

You pursue, I fly; you fly, I pursue; such is my humor. What you
wish, Dondymus, I do not read more

You pursue, I fly; you fly, I pursue; such is my humor. What you
wish, Dondymus, I do not wish, what you do not wish, I do.

The swan murmurs sweet strains with a flattering tongue, itself
the singer of its own dirge.

The swan murmurs sweet strains with a flattering tongue, itself
the singer of its own dirge.

The book which you are reading aloud is mine, Fidentinus; but,
while you read it so badly, it begins read more

The book which you are reading aloud is mine, Fidentinus; but,
while you read it so badly, it begins to be yours.

A beau is one who arranges his curled locks gracefully, who ever
smells of balm, and cinnamon; who hums read more

A beau is one who arranges his curled locks gracefully, who ever
smells of balm, and cinnamon; who hums the songs of the Nile, and
Cadiz; who throws his sleek arms into various attitudes; who
idles away the whole day among the chair of the ladies, and is
ever whispering into some one's ear; who reads little billets-
doux from this quarter and that, and writes them in return; who
avoids ruffling his dress by contact with his neighbour's sleeve,
who knows with whom everybody is in love; who flutters from feast
to feast, who can recount exactly the pedigree of Hirpinus. What
do you tell me? is this a beau, Cotilus? Then a beau, Cotilus,
is a very trifling thing.