Furius, you have neither slave nor savings
Nor bug nor spider nor fire,
But you do have a father and stepmother
Whose teeth can even grind granite.
You get on well with both your father
And the wooden wife of your father –
No wonder. For you are in splendid health
With excellent digestion, no fears –
Not fires, not grievous building collapses,
Not criminal activity, not creeping poison,
Nor any other threat of danger.
And you have bodies drier than horn
Or whatever is more withered
By sun and cold and hunger,
Why wouldn’t you be well and happy?
But you lack sweat, lack saliva,
Mucus and nasal congestion.
To this cleanliness add more than cleanliness
For your anus is cleaner than a salt-cellar
And doesn’t shit ten times a full year
And when it does it’s harder than bean and stone
So if you were to rub and crush it in your hands
You could never dirty a finger.
Don’t knock or take these happy conveniences
For granted, Furius, and stop begging for
A hundred thousand sesterces as you always do:
You are fortunate enough.