Book I, Epigram 56: Ad Frontonem

Wouldst know thy Marcus wish here in a word?
(Fronto) thou great renown of Gown and Sword,
Tis to be master of a little Field,
His own, course pleasures him such pleasures yeeld.
Every man courts the walks of Spartan stone,
And wearies his how dey' simply till noone:
He that enjoyes his happy grove and land,
Before whose fire the loaded Nets spread stand,
And leaping fish hangs with a trembling line,
Drawing sweet hony from red casks for wine?
Whose fat made spreads his Table with three legs,
And whose unpurchased embers roast his egs,
May he hate me that hates this life or this,
And live imployd in City Offices.