Book VII, Epigram 32 (Ker)

Atticus, who make live anew the names of an eloquent race, and suffer a mighty house to continue mute, on you the pious votaries of Cecropian Minerva attend, you cloistered leisure, you every philosopher holds dear. But other young men the boxing-master with his battered ear courts, and the dirty anointer makes off with wealth undeserved. No hand-ball, no bladder-ball, no feather-stuffed ball makes you ready for the warm bath, nor the blunted stroke upon the unarmed stump; nor do you stretch forth squared arms besmeared with sticky ointment, nor, darting to and fro, snatch the dusty scrimmage-ball, but you run only by the clear Virgin water, or where the Bull warms with passion for his Sidonian love. To trifle in the various sports to which every open space is devoted, when one can run, is sloth.