g forth with bended arm 20
Makes of this tool a club for doughty hand.

I, O traveller, shaped with rustic art from a dry poplar, guard this little
field which thou seest on the left, and the cottage and small garden of its
indigent owner, and keep off the greedy hands of the robber. In spring a
many-tinted wreath is placed upon me; in summer's heat ruddy grain; [in
autumn] a luscious grape cluster with vine-shoots, and in the bitter cold
the pale-green olive. The tender she-goat bears from my pasture to the town
milk-distended udders; the well-fattened lamb from my sheepfolds sends back
[its owner] with a heavy handful of money; and the tender calf, 'midst its
mother's lowings, sheds its blood before the temple of the Gods. Hence,
wayfarer, thou shalt be in awe of this God, and it will be profitable to
thee to keep thy hands off. For a punishment is prepared--a roughly-shaped
mentule. "Truly, I am willing," thou sayest; then, truly, behold the farmer
comes, and that same mentule plucked from my groin will become an apt
cudgel in his strong right hand.

XXI.

Aureli, pater essuritionum,
Non harum modo, sed quot aut fuerunt
Aut sunt aut aliis erunt in annis,
Pedicare cupis meos amores.
Nec clam: nam simul es, iocaris una, 5
Haeres ad latus omnia experiris.
Frustra: nam insidias mihi instruentem
Tangem te prior inrumatione.
Atque id si faceres satur, tacerem:
Nunc ipsum id doleo, quod essurire, 10
A me me, puer et sitire discet.
Quare desine, dum licet pudico,
Ne finem facias, sed inrumatus.

XXI.

TO AURELIUS THE SKINFLINT.

Aurelius, father of the famisht crew,
Not sole of starvelings now, but wretches who
Were, are, or shall be in the years to come,
My love, my dearling, fain art thou to strum.
Nor privately; for nigh thou com'st and jestest 5
And to his side close-sticking all things questest.
'Tis vain: while lay'st thou snares for me the worst,
By ---- I will teach thee first.
An food-full thus do thou, my peace I'd keep:
But what (ah me! ah me!) compels me weep 10
Are thirst and famine to my dearling fated.
Cease thou so doing while as modest rated,
Lest to thy will thou win--but ----

Aurelius, father of the famished, in ages past in time now present and in
future years yet to come, thou art longing to paedicate my love. Nor is't
done secret