It’s December – Saturnalia time –
when handkerchiefs and little spoons
are flying around, and wax candles
and writing-paper and withered
Damascus plums in pointed jars.
But I’ve sent you nothing for a present
except my little home-made books.
Don’t think it’s because I’m stingy
or discourteous. The truth is
I dislike the crafty politics
of measuring the gift to the receiver
to get something better in return.
Presents can be like fish-hooks.
Everybody knows how the trout’s
taken in by the fly he gulps
so greedily. Quintianus,
a poor man shows his generosity
whenever he gives a rich acquaintance
nothing at all.
Martial, 1st century Roman poet.
Epigram xviii , Book V.
. . . . .