"The moment I buy three or four pounds of plate,
A new slave or a woollen toga, my mate
Sextus the money-lender, whom I've known
For donkey's years, assumes I want a loan,
Panics and takes precautions. I soon hear
His growled aside (intended for my ear):
'I owe Phoebus four thousand, there's eleven
Due to Philetus, and Secundus's seven...
I've nothing in my strong-box left to lend.'
Oh, he's a master of the arts, my friend.
To say no, Sextus, when a pal applies
Is cruel. But before he even tries...!"
Martial, The Epigrams (85 AD).
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