Book XI, Epigram 30: Ad Phillidem

When thou beginst to raise
By thy old hand and wayes
My languishing desire to force it come
Phillis I'me tortured with thy active thumb.
For when thou call'st me thy
Dear life, thy pretty eye,
Me thinks I scarcely am wound up by thee
In ten houres to the height of Venerie.
Thou knowst not the true flatterie:
Say but once thou wilt give to mee
A hundred thousand sesterties in hand,
So many Acres of Campanian land,
A House, and Boyes, and Wine that's old,
Tables, and Cups border'd with gold:
No fingers then will needful be to thee,
Thus Phillis rub me up, thus tickle mee.