Ad Furium, Ep. 23 — Ex Catullo

Though Furious Servant have, nor Chest,
Spider, nor Fire, nor creeping Beast,
He has a Syre, and a Stepdame yet,
Whose greedy Teeth a Flint would eat.
And doubtless leads a happy Life
With's Father, and his wooden Wife.
No Wonder; for their Healths are clear.
They eat together, nothing fear.
No Conflagrations, Ruins great,
No impious Facts, nor foul Deceit.
All accidental dangers scorn,
And having Bodies dry as horn;
For what we still do dryer hold
The Sun, or hunger; or the cold,
Amongst the happy are enroll'd.
O sweat; nor salivation flows
From thee; no drop hangs at thy Nose;
And to this cleanness, cleaner far.
Thy A—se is than a Salt-Seller,
For Ten times in a Year does Sh—te,
And that parcht Pease; or Stones doth quite
[…] hardness pass, which if thou list
[…] rub, and crumble in thy Fist:
Thou may'st securely do it, and
Ne're stain the Whiteness of thy Hand.
These Benefits do not despise,
Nor rashly, Furius, lightly prize;
Let begging then for shame alone,
For thou art rich enough for one.