Book VI, Epigram 70: Ad Martianum

Cotta has livd full sixty years and more,
And yet (my Martian) never felt the sore
Affliction of a Feaver one short 'bout;
Thence though unchastly holds his finger out
Against Alcontis, Dacus, Symmachus,
But if our years were well computed thus,
And what sharp Feavers have took from us, what
Languishing grief, and sicknesse, we are not
Less then divided from the happier day,
We are but Boys in years and yet seem gray.
He that conceives (my Martian) Priam's age,
Or Nestor's to be long on the worlds stage,
Is much deceived, much out: for I thee tell
To be, is not call'd life, but to be well