Book XII, Epigram 40: In Pontilianum

When thou dost lye, I seemingly believe,
When thou repeatst bad verse, my praise I give,
When thou dost sing (Pontilian) I sing out,
And when thou dost carouse, I drink about,
When thou dost fart, I grunt too in conceipt,
And when thou playst at Chesse, I am still beat.
Yet thou dost give nothing: dead, you cry
I shall be heir: I care not, prethee dye.