Satires 1.7 (Fairclough)

How the mongrel Persius took vengeance on the foul and venomous Rupilius Rex (“king”), an outlawed man, is a tale well known, methinks, to every blear-eyed man and barber. This Persius, a rich man, had a very large business at Clazomenae, also a troublesome lawsuit with Rex. A rough man he was, the sort that in offensiveness could outdo Rex, bold and blustering and so bitter of speech as to outstrip a Siserna or a Barrus with the speed of white coursers.

To return to Rex. When he and Persius could come to no terms—(for quarrelsome folk all claim the same right as heroes who meet front to front in battle: between Hector, son of Priam, and the wrathful Achilles, the anger was so deadly, that death alone could part them, and for this sole reason that the valour of each was supreme: if two cowards chance to quarrel, or an ill-matched pair meet in war, as Diomede and Lycian Glaucus, the less valiant man gives way and sends gifts to boot)—well, when Brutus was praetor in charge of rich Asia, Persius and Rupilius clashed, a pair not less well matched than Bacchius and Bithus. Keenly they rush into court, each wondrous to behold.

Persius sets forth his case: all the assembly laugh. He praises Brutus, he praises his staff. The “sun of Asia” he calls Brutus, and “healthful stars” his suite—all except Rex, who had come like the Dog-star, hated of husbandmen. On he rushed like some winter torrent, whither the axe is seldom borne. Then, in answer to his full flood of wit, the man of Praeneste flings back abuse, the very essence of the vineyard, like some vine-dresser, tough and invincible, to whom the wayfarer has often had to yield, when loudly hooting at him “Cuckoo!”

But the Greek Persius, now soused with Italian vinegar, cries out: “By the great gods, I implore you, O Brutus, since it is in your line to “take off” kings, why not behead this Rex? This, believe me, is a task meet for you.”