by Martial
translated from Latin by David Macey


Rome lauds, loves, and sings my little books.
I am in every pocket, every hand.
Behold: she blushes, pales, dazes, yawns, looks
sick. That’s what I want! Now I’m my own fan.



Laudat, amat, cantat nostros mea Roma libellos,
meque sinus omnes, me manus omnis habet.
Ecce rubet quidam, pallet, stupet, oscitat, odit.
Hoc volo: nunc nobis carmina nostra placent.




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