Book XII, Epigram 36 (Ker)

Four pounds of plate, or two, to a friend, and a shivering toga and short cloak, sometimes sovereigns that chink in your hand, sufficient to last over two kalends — because no one but you, Labullus, makes such presents, you are not, believe me, good at giving. What then? To say the truth, you are the best of a bad lot. Give me back the Pisos, and the Senecas, and the Memmiuses, and the Crispuses — but those of former days — you will at once become the worst of a good lot. Would you pride yourself on your running and speed of foot? Beat Tigris and nimble Passarinus: there is no glory in outstripping donkeys.