Priapea 2

Lo! 'tis I, O wayfarer, I, wrought with rustic skill, I, this dry poplar, that guard this little field thou seest in front and to the left, with the poor owner's cottage and small garden, and that shield them from the wicked hand of thieves.

On me in spring is placed a garland gay; on me, in the scorching sun, the ruddy corn; on me the luscious grapes with tendrils green; on me the olive, when chilled by winter's cold.

From my pastures the dainty she-goat bears to town her udders swelled with milk; from my folds comes the fatted lamb to send home again the money-laden hand; and the tender calf, amid her mother's lowing, pours forth her blood before the temples of the gods.

Therefore, O wayfarer, thou shalt fear this god, and hold thy hand high: this is worth thy while, for lo! there stands ready thy cross, the phallus. "By Pollux! I'd like to," thou sayest. Nay, by Pollux, here comes the bailiff, whose stout arm, plucking away that phallus, finds in it a cudgel, well fitted to his right hand.