From the Greek Anthology
My name is — Who cares? — My birthplace Was — Does it matter now? — I come From ancestors whom I can trace Back to — Supposing they were scum, What of it? — I earned good repute And if not would we give a hoot? Now here beneath this tomb I lie Who's speaking? And who to? And why?
Paulus Silentiarius, vii, 307
Here Philip laid Nicoteles, his son, Aged twelve, his great hope, his only one.
Callimachus, vii, 453
This mangled corpse of a cruising squid, rock-gashed, Forty foot long and smeared with foam, was washed Onto this sandy beach. Hermonax found It lying stranded on his fisherman's round, Hauling the nets in, as he's always done, And hung it here for Ino and her son Palaemon as a gift, trusting to please The sea-gods with a marvel of the seas.
Antipater of Sidon, vi, 223
I've stopped crying for all those Who lived life and turned up their toes: I'm sorry now for those who dread Any minute dropping dead.
Anonymous, xi, 282
Looking upon my husband's face, I praised With my last breath The gods of marriage and the gods of death These that a man so fine Should be my husband, those that he's still alive. May he thrive, The father of the children that we raised, His and mine.
Joannes Barbucollus, vii, 555
I'm sending you a flask of scent An honour and a compliment To the present, not to the receiver, Who'll make it smell sweeter than ever.
Anonymous, v, 91
Give her this message, Dorcas. Please convey it Word-perfect, and don't just say it Once but repeat it twice. Hurry! Begone! Wait a moment, Dorcas, hang on. Don't vanish before you've heard what I've got to add!
Give her the message and — no (am I going mad?), Don't say anything — only that — oh, reveal Everything, but everything I feel!
But, Dorcas, what am I sending you for?
Your master's already ahead of you through the door.
Meleager, v, 182