Book IX, Epigram 73 (Ker)

Wont with your teeth to stretch out ancient hides, and to gnaw a shoe-sole rotten with mud and worn out, you possess the Praenestan fields of your dead patron, in which I think it shame if you ever had a garret; and drunk, you fill to bursting your crystal with hot Falernian, and lewdly trifle with the cupbearer of your master. But me foolish parents taught paltry letters: what is the use of teachers of granmiar and rhetoric to me? Break your worthless pens, Thalia, and tear up your books, if a shoe can give a cobbler a gift like that,