Mistress: what is it to you, Olus? It is not you, but Matho, who will thus be reduced to poverty. Olus, what either of them does with himself? Matho pays a hundred thousand sesterces to a When will he be a man of eloquence?Įros has a Ganymede, Pinna is strangely fond of women what is it to you,
#Lo saturnalia translation license
It is not unbecoming even in you, O Caesar, to listen to jests and trivial verses since the triumphal celebration itself gives a license to amusement.ĬASCELLIUS, A LAWYER DEFICIENT IN FLUENCY.Ĭascellius numbers sixty years, and is a man of talent. The crowned soldier will sport in festal railleries as he walks in procession amid the laurelled steeds. You are the first, O December, to confirm the wishes of the people how we may shout with loud voice, "He is coming." Happy are you, O December, in your lot you might have assumed equality with January, had you given us the joy which he will give us. Our god is restored to us victorious from the plains of Thrace. Now, O Muses, now, if ever, give vent to joy. VIII. TO THE MUSES, ON DOMITIAN'S RETURN. Even there, Caesar, our eyes and minds are with you and so fully do you occupy the thoughts of all, that the very crowd in the great Circus know not whether Passerinus is running or Though the wintry Northern Bear, the barbarous Peuce, 1 the Danube warmed by the trampling of horses' feet, and the Rhine, with its presumptuous horn already thrice broken, may withhold you from us, O sovereign ruler of the earth, and father of the world, whilst you are subduing the realms of a perfidious race, yet you canst not be absent from our prayers. But now, that our joy may have greater grounds for certainty, come yourself and be your own messenger of your victory over the Your will, resounds throughout your city. Again, rejoice! Rome proclaims aloud your great triumphs and your name, Caesar, even though it be against Letters announcing victory confirm the public joy the javelins of Mars have their points green with laurel. I believe you, Fame you are wont to tell the truth. Is there then any truth in the report that Caesar, quitting the northern climes, is at length preparing to return toĪusonia? Certain intelligence is wanting, but every tongue repeats this news. That foe beholds the lord of the earth nearer than we and with your countenance, Caesar, the barbarian is as much delighted as awed. Rome is envious of the foe that detains him, although many a laurelled letter reaches her. If, Caesar, you regard the wishes of your people and senate, and the real happiness of the inhabitants of Rome, restore our deity to our urgent prayers. Oppian begins, forsooth, now to write books.
To have some colour for his pallid looks, Oppianus, having an unhealthy complexion, 1 Castricus, began to write verses.ġ Looking pale, as those who would be thought poets wished to look. Why do I not send you my books, Pontilianus? Lest you should send me yours, Pontilianus.įor fear you should return the compliment. The breastplate of Domitian was formed either of that material, or in imitation of it.ģ The toga palmata, worn by generals in triumphal processions. 3Ģ The Sarmatians, according to Pausanias, made breastplates, or coats of mail, of the talons of wild beasts, arranged like scales. Go, accompany him, and may you, uninjured, earn noble triumphs, and soon restore our leader to the palm-decked toga. Minerva's aegis, whom he particularly worshipped.īreastplate of our lord and master, impenetrable to the arrows of the Sarmatians, and a greater defence than the hide worn by Mars among the Getae breastplate formed of the polished hoofs of innumerable wild boars, 2 which defies the blows even of an Aetolian spear happy is your lot, to be permitted to touch that sacred breast, and to be warmed with the genius of our god. Domitian appears to have had an aegis, or shield, made for himself after the fashion of When you do not wear it, Caesar, it may be called a breast-plate when it sits upon your sacred breast, it will be anġ The aegis was borne by the gods the lorica, or breastplate, was worn by men. Receive the terrible breastplate of the warlike Minerva, which even the anger of the snaky-locked Medusa dreads.
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