Book II, Epigram 11 (Ker)

You see, Rufus, how Selius wears a cloudy brow, how he paces up and down the colonnade late; how his heavy countenance silently bespeaks some melancholy thought; how his ugly nose almost touches the ground; how with his right hand he beats his breast and plucks his hair. Yet he is not lamenting the death of a friend or of a brother; each of his sons is living — and hope may live; his wife, too, is safe, and his chattels and his slaves; neither his tenant nor his steward has made default. His sorrow then — what is the cause of it? He dines at home!