Tomorrow at the ninth hour, my very dear Piso, your Muse-loving comrade drags you to his humble hut. He is feasting the jubilee of the Twentieth. You will get no sows' udders, no toasts in Chian wine, but you will see very true friends and you will hear much pleasanter talk than the land of the Phaeacians ever did. If you happen to turn your eyes my way, Piso, we shall celebrate not a humbler but a fatter Twentieth. Philodemos, epigram 23 (Anthologia Graeca 11.44) αὔριον εἰς λιτήν σε καλιάδα, φίλτατε Πείσων, ἐξ ἐνάτης ἕλκει μουσοφιλὴς ἕταρος, εἰκάδα δειπνίζων ἐνιαύσιον: εἰ δ᾽ ἀπολείψεις οὔθατα καὶ Βρομίου χιογενῆ πρόποσιν, ἀλλ᾽ ἑτάρους ὄψει παναληθέας, ἀλλ᾽ ἐπακούσῃ Φαιήκων γαίης πουλὺ μελιχρότερα: ἢν δέ ποτε στρέψῃς καὶ ἐς ἡμέας ὄμματα, Πείσων, ἄξομεν ἐκ λιτῆς εἰκάδα πιοτέρην.