Book II, Epigram 29 (Ker)

Rufus, you see that fellow lolling in the front seats, whose hand even at this distance shines with sardonyx, and whose mantle has so often absorbed all the purple of Tyre, and whose toga has been made to outshine the untrodden snow; whose greasy hair is smelt all over Marcellus' theatre; and whose arms gleam smooth with the hair plucked off. His shoe-latchet, not of yesterday, rests on a crescent-decked shoe; scarlet leather adorns his ungalled foot; and his brow numerous patches star and plaster. Don't you know what is the reason? Lift the patches: you will read.