Book XII, Epigram 21 (Ker)

Who would think, Marcella, that you were a. burgess of iron-tempering Salo, who, that you were born in my native land? So rare, so sweet is your quality! The Palatine will declare, should it but hear you once, that you are its own; nor will a daughter of mid Subura, nor a nursling of the Capitoline hill, vie with you; nor soon shall the fairest of foreign birth laugh at one whom it would more befit to be a Roman bride. You bid my longing for the Queen City be allayed: you by yourself make a Rome for me!