Book I, Epigram 99 (Ker)

Lately you did not possess a full two millions, and yet so profuse and open-handed, and so large in entertainment were you, Calenus, that all your friends wished you ten. The god heard our vows and prayers, and within, I think, seven months, four deaths gave you this sum. But you, just as if nothing had been left you, but rather your two millions robbed from you, came down — wretched man! — to such starvation parsimony that those more sumptuous banquets which you provide just once in the whole year you now set out at the squalid expenditure of dirty coppers; and we, your seven old comrades, cost you only a half-pound of bad silver. What reward for merits like those should we pray for? We wish you a hundred millions, Calenus. If this sum fall to you, you will die of hunger.