Book IV, Epigram 79: In Afrum

Now that the sixtieth harvest thou hast known,
And that thy face with snow is over-grown
Thou runn'st through all the Citty, every seat,
And bringst thine Ave in a toylsome sweat,
Nor can a man salute a Tribune free,
There's never a Consul can be rid of thee.
To Caesar's House thou walkst ten times a day
And talkst of nothing less than Courtiers gay,
(Afer) tis bad in Boyes that go to School,
Nought's more absurd than an old medling fool.