Book IV, Epigram 53 (Ker)

This fellow, whom you often see in the inner precincts of our patron Pallas and on the threshold, Cosmus, of the New Temple, a dotard with staff and wallet, whose hair stands up white and shaggy, and whose filthy beard falls over his breast, whom a threadbare cloak, the partner of his bare truckle-bed, covers, to whom the crowd, as it meets him, gives the scraps he barks for — you, deceived by his get-up, imagine to be a Cynic. This fellow is no Cynic, Cosmus. What is he, then? A dog.