Читать книгу Yale Classics (Vol. 2) - Луций Анней Сенека - Страница 78

XXVIII.

Starving company, troop of hungry Piso,

Light of luggage, of outfit expeditious,

You, Veranius, you, my own Fabullus,

Say, what fortune? enough of empty masters,

Frost and famine, a lingering probation?

Stands your diary fair? is any profit

Enter'd given? as I to serve a praetor Count each beggarly gift a timely profit.

Trust me, Memmius, you did aptly finger

My passivity, fool'd me most supinely.

Friends, confess it; in e'en as hard a fortune

You stand mulcted, on you a like abashless

Rake rides heavily. Court the great who wills it!

Gods and goddesses evil heap upon ye,

Rogues to Romulus and to Remus outcast.