Book XIII, 1 (Ker)

That tunny-fry may not lack a gown, and olives a capote/ nor the foul black beetle fear pinching hunger, destroy, ye Muses — the loss is mine — papyrus from the Nile: see tipsy winter calls for new pleasantries, No die of mine contends with dauntless weapon, nor does sice together with ace shake my ivory box: this paper is my nuts, this paper is my dice-box; hazard that brings me no loss nor yet any gain.