Your face is black, your hair like flame, And one eye's damaged, one foot lame: If, still, you're quite decent chap - Well 'tis a feather in your cap |
Your legs and breast bristle with shaggy hair but your mind, Pannicus, shows no signs of manliness |
Your life is what your thoughts make it. |
Zoilus, why do you delight in using a whole pound weight of gold for the setting of a stone, and thus burying your poor sardonyx? Such rings are more suited to your legs the weight is too great for fingers |