Book IX, Epigram 99 (Ker)

Marcus Antonius loves my Muse, Atticus, if only his letter of greeting says true — Marcus, cultured Tolosa's indisputable glory, whom Quietude, the nursling of Peace, begot. Do you, who can put up with long journeys, go, my book, pledge of an absent friendship. A poor gift you would be, I own, if a purchaser were sending you now; the author's giving will lend you goodly value. Great is the difference, believe me, whether water is drunk from the fountain as it flows, or as it stagnates in a sluggish pool. For three denarii you invite me, and bid me don my toga in the morning and wait in your hall, Bassus; then closely to attend you, to walk before your chair, with you to call upon ten widows more or less. Worn indeed is my poor toga, and cheap and old — yet for three denarii I cannot buy it, Bassus.