e Pot gathers leeks for the pot.

Mentula whores. By the mentule he is be-whored: certes. This is as though
they say the oil pot itself gathers the olives.

LXXXXV.

Zmyrna mei Cinnae nonam post denique messem
Quam coeptast nonamque edita post hiemem,
Milia cum interea quingenta Hortensius uno
* * * *
Zmyrna cavas Satrachi penitus mittetur ad undas, 5
Zmyrnam cana diu saecula pervoluent.
At Volusi annales Paduam morientur ad ipsam
Et laxas scombris saepe dabunt tunicas.
Parva mei mihi sint cordi monumenta _sodalis_,
At populus tumido gaudeat Antimacho. 10

LXXXXV.

ON THE "ZMYRNA" OF THE POET CINNA.

"Zmyrna" begun erstwhile nine harvests past by my Cinna
Publisht appears when now nine of his winters be gone;
Thousands fifty of lines meanwhile Hortensius in single
* * * *
"Zmyrna" shall travel afar as the hollow breakers of Satrax, 5
"Zmyrna" by ages grey lastingly shall be perused.
But upon Padus' brink shall die Volusius his annals
And to the mackerel oft loose-fitting jacket afford.
Dear to my heart are aye the lightest works of my comrade,
Leave I the mob to enjoy tumidest Antimachus. 10

My Cinna's "Zmyrna" at length, after nine harvests from its inception, is
published when nine winters have gone by, whilst in the meantime Hortensius
thousands upon thousands in one * * * * "Zmyrna" shall wander abroad e'en
to the curving surf of Satrachus, hoary ages shall turn the leaves of
"Zmyrna" in distant days. But Volusius' Annals shall perish at Padua
itself, and shall often furnish loose wrappings for mackerel. The short
writings of my comrade are gladsome to my heart; let the populace rejoice
in bombastic Antimachus.

LXXXXVI.

Si quicquam mutis gratum acceptumve sepulcris
Accidere a nostro, Calve, dolore potest,
Quo desiderio veteres renovamus amores
Atque olim missas flemus amicitias,
Certe non tanto mors inmatura dolorist 5
Quintiliae, quantum gaudet amore tuo.

LXXXXVI.

TO CALVUS ANENT DEAD QUINTILIA.

If to the dumb deaf tomb can aught or grateful or pleasing
(Calvus!) ever accrue rising from out of our dule,
Wherewith yearning desire renews our loves in the bygone,
And for long friendships lost many a tear must be shed;
Certes, never so much for doom of premature death-day 5
Must thy Quintil