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You complain, friend Swift, of the length of my epigrams, but you yourself write nothing. Yours are shorter.

Martial

You’ll get no laurel crown for outrunning a burrow.
MARTIAL

Run Yourself
There is no living with thee, nor without thee.
MARTIAL

God Live Religious
Such are thou and I: but what I am thou canst not be; what thou art any one of the multitude may be.
MARTIAL

Art Myself Yourself
He who writes distichs, wishes, I suppose, to please by brevity. But, tell me, of what avail is their brevity, when there is a whose book full of them?
MARTIAL

Book Himself Writing
Epigrams need no crier, but are content with their own tongue.
MARTIAL

Content Language Need
No man is quick enough to enjoy life.
MARTIAL

Enough Life Man Quick
Every bird that upwards swings Bears the Cross upon its wings.
MARTIAL

Animal Bird Wings
Neither fear your death’s day nor long for it.
MARTIAL

Day Death Fear Yourself
It is easy in adversity to despise death; he has real fortitude who dares to live and be wretched.
MARTIAL

Adversity Death Easy Live Reality
It is feeling and force of imagination that make us eloquent.
MARTIAL

Elegant Feeling Force Imagination Ourselves
You praise, in three hundred verses, Sabellus, the baths of Ponticus, who gives such excellent dinners. You wish to dine, Sabellus, not to bathe.
MARTIAL

Excellence Praise Verse Yourself
You puff the poets of other days, The living you deplore. Spare me the accolade: your praise Is not worth dying for.
MARTIAL

Death Live Poet Praise Worth
No hero to me is the man who, by easy shedding of his blood, purchases fame: my hero is he who, without death, can win praise.
MARTIAL

Blood Death Easy Fame Hero Himself Man Purchase
Rarity gives a charm; so early fruits and winter roses are the most prized; and coyness sets off an extravagant mistress, while the door always open tempts no suitor.
MARTIAL

Charm Prize Rare Suit
What’s a wretched man? A man whom no man pleases.
MARTIAL

Man Please Satisfaction
Work divided is in that manner shortened.
MARTIAL

Division Short Work

You complain, friend Swift, of the length of my epigrams, but you yourself write nothing. Yours are shorter.

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You complain, friend Swift, of the length of my epigrams, but you yourself write nothing. Yours are shorter.

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Popular Authors

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