noster purpureus novusque charta et binis decoratus umbilicis praeter me mihi constitit decussis: tu rosum tineis situque putrem, quales aut Libycis madent olivis aut tus Niliacum piperve servant aut Byzantiacos cocunt lacertos, nec saltem tua dicta continentem quae trino iuvenis Foro tonabas aut centum prope iudices, priusquam te Germanicus arbitrum sequenti annonae dedit omniumque late praefecit stationibus viarum, sed Bruti senis oscitationes de capsa miseri libellionis, emptum plus minus asse Gaano, donas.
Mine is purple, fresh paper, with a pair of handsome bosses. Besides myself, it cost me a ten-as piece. But yours! Moth eaten and moldering, like the sheets that soak up Libyan olives or keep Nile incense or pepper or cook Byzantine tunny. And it does not even contain your own speeches that as a young man you thundered in the triple Forum or before the Hundred Judges, ere Germanicus made you controller of the attendant corn supply and general supervisor of relay stations on all the highways; but you give me the yawns of old Brutus, a thing you bought for a Gaian as more or less, from the case of a wretched bookseller.
final_alignments\Statius_Silvae_Book4.json