Carved me no rustic boor his artless sickle a-plying:
Here of the bailiff thou see'st noble and notable work;
For that the wealthiest swain who owns the lands Cartan
(Hilarus) holds these hills sloping in sunniest folds.
See with my well-shaped face how seem I not to be wooden,
Nor do I bear belly-tools fitted for kitchen or fire:
Nay; my perpetual yard of cypress perishing never
Rises for ever and aye worthy the Phidian hand.
You, O ye neighbours, I warn to adore me, holy Priapus,
And to these acres twice seven show ye the highest respect.
No ignorant peasant shaped me with unskilful sickle: the noble handywork of the steward thou perceivest. For the most influential cultivator of the Caeretan lands, Hilarus, owns these hills and smiling slopes. Behold, with well-shaped features I do not seem to be wooden, nor belly-weapons devoted to the kitchen-fire do I bear; but my imperishable mentule of undying cypress, worthy the hand of Phidias, stiffly raises itself. Neighbours, I warn you, worship the sacred Priapus, and these fourteen acres respect.