You came to see me only once
When I was sick in bed;
I thank you, Oppian; had you come
More often, I'd be dead.
I'll not believe that I'm your heir, until
I read it after probate, in your will.
Fabulla swears the hair she wears is hers;
Does that place her among the perjurers?
Matho complains that my book is more than a little uneven;
If he is telling the truth, then he is praising my pen.
Books that are even throughout, Matho, are sure to be dreadful;
Books without height and depth come from the stupidest men.
-Translated by Rolfe Humphreys-