rates the soul. Martial excels in this
kind, as in this one:

You serve the best wines always, my dear sir,
And yet they say your wines are not so good.
They say you are four times a widower.
They say ... A drink? I don't believe I would.[46]

and in this:

Though you send presents to old men and widows
Why should I call you, sir, munificent?
There's nothing lower, dirtier than you only
Who can denominate enticements gifts.
These are the sly hooks for the greedy fish,
These are the clever baits for the wild beasts.
I will instruct you what it is to give
If you are ignorant: give, sir, to me. [47]

Some are lower in style but witty and pleasant, and have a glowing
simplicity, as can be illustrated by another of Martial's:

"An epic epigram," I heard you say.
Others have written them, and so I may.
"But this one is too long." Others are too.
You want them short? I'll write two lines for you:
_As for long epigrams let us agree
They may be skipped by you, written by me._[48]

And, indeed, of all the special capabilities of the epigram none is
more difficult to realise or more rarely achieved than the adroit
handling, the suitable and easy unfolding, of the subject so that
nothing is redundant, nothing wanting, nothing out of order, obscure,
or tangled up in verbiage, and yet at the same time nothing too
unexpected, nothing not adequately prepared for. Martial is
pre-eminent in this; he develops his subjects so aptly, clearly, and
perceptively that he obtains for ideas of no special note otherwise a
good deal of distinction by the charm of the handling. For example,
what could be more resourcefully developed than this epigram?

Believe me, sir, I'd like to spend whole days,
Yes, and whole evenings in your company,
But the two miles between your house and mine
Are four miles when I go there to come back.
You're seldom home, and when you are deny it,
Engrossed with business or with yourself.
Now, I don't mind the two mile trip to see you;
What I do mind is going four to not to.[49]

And what would the following epigram be if it had not been perfected
and prepared for by the handling?

That no one meets you willingly,
That where you come they go, that vast
Areas of silence circle you--
Why so? you ask. Too much the bard.
This makes it terribly, terribly hard.
Who would put up wi