Book XII, Epigram 18 (Ker)

While perchance you are restlessly wandering, Juvenal, in the noisy Subura, or treading the hill of Queen Diana; while, amid the thresholds of great men, your sweaty toga fans you, and, as you stray, the greater Caelian and the less wearies you, me my Bilbilis, sought once more after many Decembers, has received and made a countryman, Bilbilis, proud of its gold and iron. Here indolently, with pleasant toil, I frequent Boterdus and Platea (such in Celtiberian lands are the uncouth names!); I enjoy a huge unconscionable sleep which often not even the third hour breaks, and I pay myself now in full for all my sleeplessness for thrice ten years. Unknown is the toga; rather, when I ask for it, the first covering at hand is given to me from a broken chair. When I get up, a fire, served with a lordly heap of logs from the neighbouring oak-wood, welcomes me, and my bailiff's wife crowns it with many a pot. Next comes my huntsman, and he too a youth whom you would desire to consort with in some secret grove. The unbearded bailiff gives my slaves their rations, and asks permission to crop his long hair. So I love to live, so I love to die.