Book X, Epigram 30 (Ker)

O temperate Formiac, darling shore! When he flies from stern Mars' town, and weariedly puts off distracting cares, 'tis you Apollinaris prefers to every spot. Not so does he admire his blameless wife's darling Tibur, nor the retreats of Tusculum or Algidus, not so does he admire Praeneste and Antium; Circe's witching headland or Dardan Caieta are not longed for, nor Marica nor Liris, nor Salmacis bathed in the Lucrine's waters. Here Ocean's surface is ruffled by a gentle breeze; yet is not the sea-floor still, but a slumberous swell bears on the gaudy shallop with the assisting air, as from the fluttering of a girl's purple fan, when she shuns the heat, there comes refreshing cool. The line seeks not its prey in the distant sea, but the fish, descried from above, draws down the cord cast from bed or couch. If ever Nereus feel the power of Aeolus, the table, safe-supplied from its own store, laughs at the storm; the fishj)ond feeds turbot and home-reared bass; to its master's call swims the dainty lamprey; the usher summons a favourite gurnard, and, bidden to appear, aged mullets put forth their heads. But when dost thou, Rome, permit to enjoy those delights? How many days of Formiae does the year put to the credit of one tied to city business.'' O happy porters and bailiffs I Those delights are procured for your masters, they belong to you!