Laudator Temporis Acti

Martial 10.15(14) (my translation):

You claim you're second to none of my friends,
but I ask you, Crispus, what do you do to make it so?
When I asked you to loan me a few thousand, you refused,
although your heavy safe wasn't big enough to hold your cash.
When did you give me a peck of beans or grain,
although an Egyptian tenant farmer plows your fields?
When was a short cloak sent to me in the cold winter time?
When did half a pound of silver arrive at my door?
I see no reason to believe in your "friendship" towards me,
Crispus, other than your habit of farting in my presence.

Cedere de nostris nulli te dicis amicis.
    sed, sit ut hoc verum, quid, rogo, Crispe, facis?
mutua cum peterem sestertia quinque, negasti,
    non caperet nummos cum gravis arca tuos.
quando fabae nobis modium farrisve dedisti,
    cum tua Niliacus rura colonus aret?
quando brevis gelidae missa est toga tempore brumae?
    argenti venit quando selibra mihi?
nil aliud video, quo te credamus amicum,
    quam quod me coram pedere, Crispe, soles.

The same, tr. William Hay:

You say, I have no better friend than you:
What do you do, to make me think it true?
I wanted but five pounds, which you deny;
Though you have useless thousands lying by.
From all the fertile harvests of your plain,
When did you send to me one single grain?
When a short cloak, to guard me from the cold?
To line my purse, when a small piece of gold?
I see no mark of friendship on your part;
But, before me you are free enough to fart.

Familiarity breeds contempt.

Labels: noctes scatologicae