Egnatius, spruce owner of superb white teeth,
Smiles sweetly, smiles for ever: is the bench in view
Where stands a pleader just prepar'd to rouse our tears,
Egnatius smiles sweetly; near the pyre they mourn
Where weeps a mother o'er the lost, the kind one son,
Egnatius smiles sweetly; what the time or place
Or thing soe'er, smiles sweetly; such a rare complaint
Is his, not handsome, scarce to please the town, say I.
So take a warning for the nonce, my friend; town-bred
Were you, a Sabine hale, a pearly Tiburtine,
A frugal Umbrian body, Tuscan huge of paunch,
A grim Lanuvian black of hue, prodigious-tooth'd,
A Transpadane, my country not to pa** untax'd,
In short whoever cleanly cares to rinse foul teeth,
Yet sweetly smiling ever I would have you not,
For silly laughter, it's a silly thing indeed.
Well: you're a Celtiberian; in the parts thereby
What pa**'d the night in water, every man, come dawn,
Scours clean the foul teeth with it and the gums rose-red;
So those Iberian snowy teeth, the more they shine,
So much the deeper they proclaim the draught impure.