Whoa, little book! Slow up! Easy there! Steady!
We’ve reached the finishing post, yet you’re still ready
To gallop uncontrollably on, to run
Past the last page, as if your job weren’t done.
(I’d have called it a day after page one!)
My reader’s fed up now, about to drop,
And my copyist, who longs to shut up shop,
Agrees: “Whoa, little book! Enough! Full stop!”[Ohe, iam satis est, ohe, libelle,
Iam pervenimus usque ad umbilicos.
Tu procedere adhuc et ire quaeris,
Nec summa potes in schida teneri,
5Sic tamquam tibi res peracta non sit,
Quae prima quoque pagina peracta est.
Iam lector queriturque deficitque,
Iam librarius hoc et ipse dicit
“Ohe, iam satis est, ohe, libelle.”]Martial (AD c.39-c.103) Spanish Roman poet, satirist, epigrammatist [Marcus Valerius Martialis]
Epigrams [Epigrammata], Book 4, epigram 89 (4.89) (AD 89) [tr. Michie (1972)]
(Source)
The last epigram in Book 4.
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:
Oh, 't is enough, it is enough, my book;
Upon the utmost page thou now dost look.
Would'st thou swell further yet? yet larger be?
Not leave thy paragraphs and margins free?
As if to some known period thou didst tend,
When ev'ry epigram may be thy end.
Reader and printer tired, no more can brook;
'T is time thyself pronounce the last line strook.
Oh, 't is enough, oh, 't is enough, my book.
[tr. Killigrew (1695)]
Enough, enough! little book! we have already reached the end of the parchment. You would still go on, and add to your bulk, and cannot confine yourself within due limits; just as if you had not done enough, when you had completed the first page. The reader is now quite querulous, and out of patience; the librarius himself now cries out, "Enough, enough, little book."
[tr. Bohn's Classical (1897)]
Ho, there! Ho, there! 'tis now enough, my little book. We have now come to the very end: you still want to go on further and continue, and cannot be held in even in your last strip, just as if your task was not finished -- which was finished, too, on the first page! Already my reader is grumbling and giving in; already even my scribe says: "Ho, there! Ho, there! 'tis enough now, little book."
[tr. Ker (1919)]
Hold, little book, enough, enough!
Here is the end of the scroll and thee;
Stay thy course ere the path grow rough,
Keep thy bounds for thou art not free,
Many thy sheets, though one should be
Ample space for thy sorry stuff.
Hold, little book, enough, enough!
Here is the end of the scroll and thee.
Wearied readers are harsh and gruff,
Now are they tired of thee and me;
Soon thou shalt meet a rude rebuff,
List to the worn-out scrivener’s plea;
‘Hold, little book, enough, enough!’
[tr. Pott & Wright (1921), "Finis"]
We've filled the scroll; "Hold, hold, enough!" I say,
But still you want to plod your inky way.
Heighho! 'tis finis, and the gap to fill
One page was plenty, yet you're restless still.
The reader flags and grumbles at the stuff,
And now the very penman cries "Enough."
[tr. Francis & Tatum (1924), No. 214]
Hold it, book, that's enough!
We've come to the knob at the end of the roll.
You object? And want to keep going right on
And can't sit still cooped up in the last column
on the last leaf? As though for you the work wasn't done
that was done when the first page was over and gone.
Your reader is tired, he's getting gruff,
the bookseller is losing interest in your stuff:
Hold it, book, that's enough!
[tr. Bovie (1970)]
Whoa, little book! Slow up! Easy there! Steady!
We've reached the finishing post, yet you're still ready
To gallop uncontrollably on, to run
Past the last page, as if your job weren't done.
(I'd have called it a day after page one!)
My reader's fed up now, about to drop,
And my copyist, who longs to shut up shop,
Agrees: "Whoa, little book! Enough! Full stop!"
[tr. Michie (1972)]
Whoa, there's enough, whoa now, little book! We have got to the bosses. But you want to go on further and keep going, there's no holding you at the final sheet, as though you had not finished the business which was finished even on page one. Already the reader grows querulous and weary, already the very copyist says "Whoa, there's enough, whoa now, little book!"
[tr. Shackleton Bailey (1993)]
Hey, you're stuffed, little book, give it a rest.
You've reached the end-papers and still have zest!
What on earth makes you yet want to let go,
When "misfire" our verse reeked from the get-go?
Zip it, my pages, let's call a "time out";
We've hit the back cover -- and still you'd spout?
Look, the reader's pissed and quite unimpressed;
Even our publisher calls you a pest:
"Hey, you're stuffed, little book, give it a rest!"
[tr. Schmidgall (2001)]
Slow down, my book, don't race beyond the goal
Or keep on trotting like a frisky foal.
You've used up all the paper in this roll.
Continuing, you'd make me lose control.
The reader says you might have gone too far,
My scribe says, "Hold your horses where they are."
[tr. Wills (2007)]
