"The rich woman is a human plague.
If he can hang around his neck two emeralds, Farsi
crease the ears of two Perlon,
There is crap unless it is capable of.
His face covered with several layers of cream
powder, repugnant. The mouth of the unhappy husband
reel in quicksand
ointments, Poppea, smell fist. But
washed by his run.
Being beautiful home, why? The essences are made
fine
for extramarital affairs.
that end, or thread-like Indians,
you send perfumes we buy.
Ah finally! A crack has opened,
The first layer has been dropped: now we know who is
. Then, wash with
donkey milk. (If exiled her
In the Arctic, would have his ass).
And I wonder if this is a face
poultice of cooked flour, and covered deck
of ointments,
Or a plague. "
Juvenal (50-60 AD - 127 AD) - Satire VI
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