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.