Book XI, Epigram 29 (Ker)

When you begin to paw my apathetic person with your antediluvian hands, I am murdered by that finger of yours, Phyllis; for when you call me "mouse," when you call me "light of your eyes," I can scarcely, I think, get over it in ten hours. Blandishments you know nothing of: say, "I will give you a hundred thousand sesterces," and "I will give you well-tilled acres of Setine land; accept wines, a town house, slaves, enamelled dishes, tables." I don't require your thumbing: scratch me in this way, Phyllis.