You complain, Velox, that the epigrams which I write are long. You yourself write nothing; your attempts are shorter.

Since your legs, Phoebus, resemble the horns of the moon, you might bathe your feet in a cornucopia.

Report says that you, Fidentinus, recite my compositions in public as if they were your own. If you allow them to be called mine, I will send you my verses gratis; if you wish them to be called yours, pray buy them, that they may be mine no longer.

Never think of leaving perfumes or wine to your heir. Administer these yourself, and let him have your money.

See how the mountain goat hangs from the summit of the cliff; you would expect it to fall; it is merely showing its contempt for the dogs.

When to secure your bald pate from the weather, You lately wore a cape of black neats' leather; He was a very wag, who to you said, "Why do you wear your slippers on your head?"