Book XI, Epigram 6 (Ker)

On the old Scythe-bearer's feastful days, whereof the dice-box is king and lord, you, caphad exterminated all his opponents and superstitiously fearing to trespass further on the kindness of Fortune, whose child he regarded himself. clad Rome, allow me, I wot, to trifle in verse untoilsome. You have smiled: I may then, I am not forbidden. Ye pallid cares, far hence away! whatever comes to my mind let me speak without wrinkled meditation. Blend, boy, cups half and half, such as Pythagoras offered Nero; blend them, thou, Dindymus, and that more oft; nothini;; sober can I do: as I drink a fifteen-poets power will bear me up. Give me kisses now, and by Catullus's measure; if they be as many as he said, I will give thee a Sparrow of Catullus.