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Time to start in with my Horace translations again. Epode 8 is definately not for those easily offended.





Epode 8
Horace
Tr. William Parsons


You ask me, you pig, over and over again, what wilts my manhood, while you are the one with the one black tooth, with old age plowing your brow with wrinkles, and your filthy asshole, with shit still on it, gaping between boney ass cheeks like some cow's! But what really gets me is your chest and saggy tits-- like some mare’s teats--, your flabby belly, and chicken legs sitting on top of elephant ankles.

You’ve been blest; may triumphal images lead your funeral procession and let there not be some wife out there who walks about laden with rounder pearls.

Who cares that there are little Stoic books that love to lie among your silken pillows? Do unread muscles stiffen less, or is the unlettered dick less soft? So listen, if you are going to call it out from my proud groin, you’ll have to work harder at it with your mouth.

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