usque adeone defuerunt caesis pillea suta de lacernis vel mantelia luridaeve mappae, chartae Thebaicaeve Caricaeve? nusquam turbine conditus ruenti prunorum globus atque cottanorum? non enlychnia sicca, non replictae bulborum tunicae? nec ova tandem nec lenes halicae nec asperum far? nusquam Cinyphiis vagata campis curvarum domus uda cochlearum? non lardum grave debilisve perna? non Lucanica, non breves Falisci, non sal oxyporumve caseusve aut panes nitidantis aphronitri aut passum psithiis suis recoctum dulci defruta vel lutosa caeno? quantum vel dare cereos olentes, cultellum tenuesve codicillos? ollares, rogo, non licebat uvas, Cumano patinas vel orbe tortas aut unam dare synthesin (quid horres?) alborum calicum atque cacaborum? sed certa velut aequus in statera, nil mutas, sed idem mihi rependis.
Were there really no caps for sale, stitched from cloak clippings, or towels, or yellowed napkins, writing paper, dates from Thebes or figs from Caria? Nowhere a handful of plums or bullaces stored in a cascading cone? No dry lamp wicks, no peeled-off onion jackets? No eggs even or mild groats or rough spelt? Nowhere a slimy house of a sinuous snail that had strayed over Cinyphian plains? No lump of bacon or moldering ham? No Lucanian sausages or short Faliscans, no salt, no condiment, no cheese? Or rolls of furbishing soda or raisin wine boiled up with its own grapes or must muddy with its sweet lees? What does it save you not even to give me smelly candles or a knife or thin tablets? Could you not, I ask you, have sent some potted grapes or some dishes turned on a Cuman wheel or a set (dont be alarmed) of white cups and pots? But as though you were playing fair on an accurate scale, you change nothing, give me tit  for tat.
final_alignments\Statius_Silvae_Book4.json